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Histoires De Luna

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Velut Luna said:
I see the stairs above me, so close that I think they’ll fall on me. For a minute I’m nailed on the same step, then, moving towards the stairwell,
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It's strange how there are sometimes coincidental parallels between people in completely unrelated stories... the character of Anrirathu in my story has also spent a part of her life in sequestration, and like with him, there's a scene where she hardly makes it down the stairs...
malins said:
Then she paused and did not move at all for a long time. Frozen half up and half down the stairs.
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malins said:
It's strange how there are sometimes coincidental parallels between people in completely unrelated stories... the character of Anrirathu in my story has also spent a part of her life in sequestration, and like with him, there's a scene where she hardly makes it down the stairs...
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I've not read at all your story, dear malins, but I think it's a classic of claustrophoby disease. But I don't suffer of it.
 
He’s back


Didier is sitting at the edge of the road, quiet, he hasn’t made a movement, I don’t dare to leave him, but I’ve got to call Roux, and I don’t want Didier to hear what I’m saying.

'How are you feeling, Monsieur De la Tour?'

He remains motionless, silent, gazing into the distance.

'De la Tour, I have to leave you, only for a few minutes. But I can’t unless you assure me you’re okay.'

No reaction.

'Didier ...'

'I shan’t die, do what you must.'

he replies apathetically.

I move a few steps away and I input Roux’s number.

'Didier’s ill. Not that he was very well before... '

'What happened?'

'He saw a whistle hanging from a telegraph pole, and began saying that the kidnapper of Béjart's daughter must have left it, and that he must be the same man who kidnapped him. He’s convinced that his real kidnapper's still alive.'

'And why would leave the whistle?'

From the tone of his voice seems to be meditating on the question, I’m mystified.

'I’ve no idea, and perhaps even he hasn’t. Look, I’ll take him home.'

'And you mean to ignore what he said?'

'Sorry – but I need to know, in your opinion, what should I do? '

'Communicate the discovery to D'Alembert.'

I think I’ve heard him wrong.

'Doctor... Roux ... De la Tour is delirious! Confronted with something that looks like the one that he associates with what happened to him he’s out of his mind. '

'The whistle could be proof that it’s a case of abduction and murder by a stranger to the family.'

'Now you are delirious, Doctor.'

Is it possible that his urge to fuck Saintcolombe is strong enough to send Roux out of mind?

'If I go and say such a thing to D'Alembert, he’ll just laugh in my face.'

'The responsibility is yours, Corinne, not mine.'

'I’m pulling out of this!'

'Tonight. But wait for now, someone will come. I’ll notify D'Alembert. '

and he hangs up without saying goodbye.

Fuck, it is he suddenly got stoned too?


The first to arrive, after an hour, is Saintcolombe. His car is followed by an SUV with the UCV logo, the two technicians I saw before.

'Here we are again. I'm beginning to hate this place.'

says the older one.

Saintcolombe has turned up in a furious temper.

'Whose idea is this shit?'

I try to mask my embarrassment.

'Find out for yourself, genius.'

'You’ll pay for this.'

'The pole’s there. Why don’t you stick it up your ass?'

'Come on, let's get a move on. We’ll settle the score later. '

The technicians, without the white jumpsuits they wear for big events, photograph the whistle, then put it into a sterile bag.

Saintcolombe is stuck to the spot, behind my ass.

'Are you afraid that’ll hang someone else?'

'It already has, they’ll send you to stamp passports when you come back.'

'I should learn from you to lick ass with those who matter. How's it going with D'Alembert? Do you bring him coffee in bed?'

He stares at me with hatred.

'You be careful what you say.'

'I am being. Don’t even think what I’d say if I weren’t...'

He moves away.

I sit beside Didier, while the technicians cover the pole with powder for fingerprints, but get just a jumble of them.

'He’s back ...'

he says in a low voice,

'... he's back. After all these years. I always knew he was still out there, somewhere.'

'The technicians have done, Carrel. Tell to your friend he’s to come with us for a chat with the magistrate.'

'No!'

Didier answers without looking at him,

'You can talk to me, I’m neither deaf nor stupid.'

'I know who you are, De la Tour. I have colleagues who’ve had to deal with your "advice". And none of them liked it.'

'Maybe they didn’t know their job ...'

'Will you repeat that?'

I get up and station myself in front of Saintcolombe.

'Stop being a jerk.'

'Get out!'

'Can’t you see he's hurt?'

'Hurt my cock!'

'Really? The kidnapping has left a severe trauma, he suffers from claustrophobia and is under medical treatment. If you drag him around against his will, I’ll report you for assault and abuse of power. '

'It was you who dragged him here by the balls, Carrel.'

'Maybe, but from here on, the responsibility is yours.'

'The magistrate wants to hear him. Do I have to tell him to go to his home? '


The senior technician approaches.

'A few kilometers from here there’s a motorway services with a restaurant that’s all windows. Don’t you think would be just fine for you, Monsieur De la Tour?'

'If you say no, Didier, I’ll take you home immediately.'

'Must I?'

'No – you don’t have to.'

'Let me decide, doctor.'

'Well then? Okay or not, it has to be the fucking motorway services.'

Saintclolombe explodes.

'Okay,'

responds Didier.

While Saintcolombe agrees things on the phone with D'Alembert, the senior technician smiles at Didier.

'He’s like that, but he’s not a villain, just a shit. '

'You know each other?'

I ask.

Didier shakes his head, not even participating in the conversation.

'We’ve never met in person, but I know who he is ...'

continues the specialist,

'Do you remember the asylum case...?'

'Of course.'

It happened shortly after the Disaster, and the story even managed to penetrate the blanket that enveloped me. Although I was poorly, very poorly, it seemed incredible that anyone could believe it. The entire staff of a kindergarten accused of abusing pupils in imaginative ways. No evidence, just the parents' allegations. And many had believed them.

'He stepped in?'

'According to the tale, yes.'

'Tale?'

'None of us ever saw him, but they say he acted as a consultant for the lawyers of the accused. Turned out to be a lot of rumors ... just smelt true ... kicked the ass of the chief prosecutor... '

'It didn’t do any good,'

Didier goes on, his voice is grave.

'There was a decision not to prosecute.'

I interject.

'They had to move to other cities. All of them. The parents still believe they were right. The children are no longer able to distinguish fact from other people's sick fantasies. They’re growing up crooked, full of trouble.'

'True.'

the expert nods.

Saintcolombe ends the call.

'Dr. D'Alembert will reach the services in an hour, but it’s a colossal waste of his time! '

A police car stops near the site, two police get out.

'Make sure no-one touches it or gets near it, ok? And if anyone asks why, say it’s an order from the Traffic Police.'

'Traffic Police?'

one cop start to argue.

'What? Are you deaf? '

growls Saintcolombe.

The officer gulps,

'No sir.'

'You bring your friend - so he can’t accuse us of mistreating him during the trip. '

Saintcolombe concludes, turning to me, then heading for his car.

'Go and have a crash, asshole!'
 
I'm getting a bit left behind with my summaries, I've been a bit busy IRL, but here's three chapters to be going on with:


Trouble Coming

A man is under observation. Every day for a fortnight he’s waited till 12:30 when the children leave the school.

He’s doing the same as he’s done every other day, so our observer stops to make himself a coffee and go through some documents and a video that he’s been sent (a week ago) by the lawyer, Fleury.

The video shows a young child, a girl, being interviewed by a child psychologist. 5:02 minutes into the question she answers a question with the words, “It was Dad.”

He watches that moment over and concludes that the child’s mother prompted the child to say that. He texts Fleury declining to help.

The lawyer rings, and they argue (meanwhile he’s still keeping an eye on the guy outside the school.)

He explains that that the mother is rewarding the child for saying what the mother wants her to say, he considers the fact that both the mother and the psychologist are vegans is significant.

He rings off as a woman comes to the door. Looks like trouble…


A Coffee

The women is Corinne Carrel and our 'observer' turns out to be Didier de la Tour. (Luna puts de la Tour’s words and thoughts in italics; sometimes you have two people talking in the first person, which can be confusing, until you realize that Carrel is in plain text and de la Tour in italics. I find it a very effective device, once you get used to it.)

He begins to make her a coffee, She is nervous because he keeps his left hand out of sight in a pocket, even while making coffee.

She asks him to take his hand out of his pocket.

His hand is nearly useless. It’s been deliberately damaged. He recognizes in Corinne a fellow victim.

De la Tour had been kidnapped as a child, and held prisoner for 11 years, on a farm belonging to a man named Borrel, who had committed suicide and was believed by police to be the kidnapper. De la Tour states that someone else was in fact the kidnapper.

He figures out that Carrel is off duty, because she is not armed.


Involved

She wants his help with the Bejart case.

De la Tour is an expert observer of people; spending his formative years in captivity he has learned to observe people and their body language. His captor always had his face covered; Didier had learned to observe posture.

Didier refuses to help.

Corinne puts pressure on him by likening the Bejart case to his own. She freely admits to the politics between Roux, D’Alembert, and Saintcolomb.

He eventually agrees at least to read the papers, but he wants, in return, Corinne’s help with the man outside the school (who is still there).

Hunting Time

Aubert is sent by Corinne to watch the man in a red jacket, smoking, near a school.

But Aubert fluffs it, the man sees him and fells him with a punch to the nose.

So Corinne chases him and, after a bit of very exciting action, brings him down.

She gets someone to pass her mobile phone, which she’s dropped in all the excitement, so she can call the police.
 
Jollyrei said:
I'm running out of ways to say how much I like this story. I did find the summary helpful, just to sort out who was saying what. I really look forward to the next chapter.
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Let's meet at the pub and sort this out. This story is probing so many facets. This last chapter again (I think) looks at how adults screw with kids' heads 'doing the right thing' (they think).
 
Hyenas and vultures

The entrance to the Autogrill is already guarded by officers. Customers can enter the services, but in the restaurant area, access is denied. During the trip my guilt was magnified out of proportion. Didier could make himself look ridiculous in front of hyenas like D'Alembert and his vultures, and all because I couldn’t say no to my, might-have-been, former head. I was a little relieved when I heard Didier call his lawyer, he might have a good loophole.

I watch the entrance like a condemned man seeing the noose, my internal indicator is dangerously close to ten. The tablets of Xanax now just give me dizziness and nausea... Images of the past flash through my mind. The Father, my prison, the light that filters through the window at the top. I think of a sentence that keeps coming back to me, Father repeated it often: 'Nowhere will ever be safe as here.' I believed it then. Sometimes I still believe it.

'It is almost over, for now. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry I’ve dragged you into the middle of all this, Didier.'

'You didn’t drag me into it - it was him.'

'The Father?'

'Yup.'

"We're doing well." I think.

A tall, thin man in a tweed overcoat comes up to us from the entrance of the Autogrill, walking in long strides. He vaguely resembles Jeremy Irons a few years ago, though with shorter hair and tanned skin. For sure, it’s the lawyer. He lays his hands on the shoulders of his client.

'How are you?'

'It's the Father, Fleury.'

The lawyer shakes his head, worried.

'Are you sure?'

'Yup.'

He greets me coldly, introducing himself.

'Fleury, Robert Fleury lawyer. If my client gets into any trouble as a result of this story, I will hold you responsible.'

'Can we talk for a moment in private, lawyer?' I reply.

Fleury looks towards Didier, who nods his head. We move a few paces off.

'Lawyer, take him out of here, now! He’s not able to face questioning. '

'I can’t force him, on the phone he told me he wants to move on.'

'But did you hear what he said? He thinks his captor's come back.'

'I’ve learned to respect his beliefs, even if they seem bizarre.'

'This is more than bizarre, it’s madness.'

Fleury raises an eyebrow,

'Really?'

'De la Tour was kidnapped thirty years ago, it’s impossible that he can detect traces of his captor just from an old whistle, which he can only remember vaguely at best.'

The wrinkles around his eyes relax slightly.

'Thankyou for your concern, it’s really appreciated. But now we have to go.'

Without waiting for a reply, Fleury takes Didier familiarly by the arm, and goes on in.

"All right. One way or another, it’ll soon be over." I say to myself with a sigh.

To enter the restaurant I have to show my card. Didier, always looking outside, goes across to D'Alembert and Saintcolombe who are sitting at one of the tables next to the window. With them is a third man, I don’t know who, with a laptop in front of him. I greet them politely, Saintcolombe doesn’t even give me a look, D'Alembert glares at suspiciously, but they all shake hands with the lawyer.

'Legal representation isn’t necessary,'

says D'Alembert, annoyed.

'We’d prefer it that way. If you're not happy, Dr. D'Alembert, we don’t want to waste your time. We can arrange a more appropriate meeting elsewhere at another time,'

replies Fleury.

D'Alembert shakes his head,

'God forbid, lawyer. Sit down, please. Indeed everybody sit down.'

The man with the computer is the inspector in charge of taking the minutes, copies of documents, all the data. He starts up a digital recorder. D'Alembert says the date, time and who’s present, then pushes a colour printout towards Didier; It is a picture of the whistle, with a UCV stamp on it.

'I'm showing Mr. De la Tour a photograph of the whistle found at a picnic area about five hundred metres from the site of the murder of Mrs Béjart, née Moulin. Mr. De la Tour, do you confirm that this is the same object as you found on today’s date, and has been acquired as an exhibit by my office?'

'It looks the same.'

'You said to Dr. Carrel who’s present here that this whistle is connected with the murder of Mrs Béjart and the disappearance of her daughter, Luciole Béjart, is that correct?'

'He didn’t say exactly how,' I chip in.

'Doctor, kindly limit yourself to responding only when and if you’re asked a question, please.'

"Shit! Courtesy my ass!" I think.

'Those were not my words, Dr. Carrel is right. What I wanted to make clear was that this whistle is identical to the one I had with me when I was kidnapped. That whistle was taken from me by my captor. I found it a short walk from where the girl was abducted, that makes me think it's not a coincidence.'

'Can you explain?'

'I think it was left by my kidnapper. So my whistle was in his possession.'

D'Alembert and Saintcolombe exchange a look.

'The man who kidnapped you is dead, Mr. De la Tour ...'

says D'Alembert, separating the words, as you do with an idiot,

'... his name Borrel and he shot himself in his farm before the arrival of the police.'

'He was not my captor. Borrel was just a patsy, he was made a scapegoat, so you closed the investigation and took no further trouble.'

'I know that this has always been your version, Mr. De la Tour. Was the whistle was in the list of your missing possessions drawn up by your parents?'

'No.'

'And did you speak about it with the authorities after your release?'

'No. They never asked me. But I’ve not made it up now, if that's what you're implying.'

'De la Tour, it's not my job to imply. I ask the questions and you are a witness under an obligation to answer, although here ... informally.'

'Is there already a police report from Forensic Science Division?'

asks Fleury.

Saintcolombe intervenes,

'At this point in time, only a preliminary report. I’ve been advised by telephone that there are no organic traces. It’s hard to judge by the degree of oxidation how long it had been exposed, since we don’t know its previous condition, but not for long, it’s fairly well preserved.'

'Is the year of manufacture compatible with my client’s account?'

Fleury presses him.

'Only in principle. That model was produced between 1965 and 1980, it could be from any of those years.'

D'Alembert smiles for a moment at Didier, but there isn't a shred of human sympathy in that smile, just a kind of patronising expression.

'Mr. De la Tour, let’s say the whistle is identical to your ...'

he raises a hand as if to prevent any possible objection,

'... but consider the odds, how much are they against that whistle being really yours, put there by a ghostly hand, and not the one lost by a hiker, or perhaps by a child who’d been given it by their parent? And then someone’s hung it there as a considerate gesture so it may be found, like you might do with a lost glove or bunch of keys?'

'I don’t need to calculate the odds. I know it for a fact.'

'But we don’t! There is, unfortunately, nothing to corroborate your version.'

'You're wrong!'

D'Alembert’s smile grows cold.

'What am I wrong about? Would you be so good as to explain...?'

'No fingerprints. This hypothetical kid who lost it would never touched it, in your opinion?'

'Whoever picked it up would have wiped off the mud.'

'Erasing all traces? Even erasing any organic residue on the inside, of saliva for example? Or do you think that no-one has ever blown it? You know, that’s what you do with whistles!'

I feel a surge of admiration for Didier, he’s not making the pitiful figure I’d feared.

'The rain has washed it, De la Tour.'

declares D'Alembert.

'Unless whoever put it there didn’t want us to find out who he is, eh, De la Tour?'

hisses Saintcolombe, laying his cards on the table,

'... because he knew that the first thing we’d check would be his DNA!'

'Is he accusing my client?' Fleury intervenes.

If D'Alembert’s smile is icy, the lawyer's eyes are fiery.

'Excuse me, your Honour ...'

resumes Saintcolombe, looking in my direction,

'... can you tell us if you never lost sight of him, even a second, when you were coming down?'

'I don’t have to answer to you, Saintcolombe.'

'She's right, Doctor, Dr. D'Alembert ...',

intervenes Fleury,

'... and if the testimony of my client continues being heard in this atmosphere, we shall leave immediately.'

'All right, all right, let's calm down ...'

says D'Alembert surprised,

'... but I am bound to put the same question to Dr. Carrel who’s present here.'

'But who is making the deposition? My client or Dr. Carrel?'

continues Fleury.

'Your client. But I would like to save time, if you agree, as a lawyer.'

'No, I do not agree.'

Fleury replies.

'Lawyer, let's keep it short, I didn’t lose sight of him for a moment.'

I speak up to finish it.

'Satisfied now, Dr. D'Alembert? Or do you think the doctor is lying? '

asks Didier.

'Mr. De la Tour, do you understand that anyone ill-disposed would find the coincidence suspicious?'

'There is no coincidence, HE put it there on purpose.'

'Your captor?'

'Yup.'

'And why did he do this? To send a message? A challenge? A signal?'

Didier hesitates, it seems to me that wants to say something but quickly pulls back.

'I don’t know what goes on in his head. I didn’t know then and I don’t know now.'

'Couldn’t your whistle have remained unnoticed? Stayed there until it was rusty? Ended up in the trash-bin? And how long would it have been since he put it there? A few minutes before you found it?'

'I’m not able to judge his intentions. I find it as hard to understand his diabolical mind now as I did then.'

A long look between D'Alembert and Saintcolombe, then the magistrate concludes.

'All right, Mr. De la Tour ... Thank you ... I'm done,'

and he prepares to collect the documents.

While until now Didier has spoken quietly, almost without moving, he suddenly jerks forward, and D'Alembert drops back in his chair.

'Do you know what it’s going to be like for that little girl now? Years of imprisonment, if not her whole lifetime... psychological violence, physical violence... and the risk of being killed if she doesn’t learn, or disobeys.'

'As happened to you, you mean?'

'Yup. Just as it happened to me. '

'Do you understand that makes a witness easily influenced, suggestible... if one may say so, unreliable?'

'It was my duty to try to make you aware.'

'We’ve finished. You will be asked to sign the record when the transcript is completed.'

'We know, and we’ll stand by it,'

Fleury concludes, getting up. Didier and he depart.

(continue)​
 
Continue​

'Doctor, stop, I need to have a word with you.'

Saintcolombe and Inspector are blocking my way at the exit.

'You know what I want to ask you?'

'No.'

'What were you doing at the scene of an inquiry you’re not involved in? And why have you brought De la Tour into it?'

'He’s an expert consultant for missing persons.'

'He’s an unstable nutcase paid by law firms to muddy the water and make them money.'

'If that’s your opinion it’s not mine.'

'This story about the whistle could be the cornerstone of a defence theory to exonerate Béjart. You, doctor, are not under oath, but I’m asking for the truth in my official capacity: it was Roux who sent you, he doesn’t like to be cut out.'

'No.'

'You’re lying. You two are close, aren’t you?'

'What do you mean by close?'

'Nothing improper, I simply mean he was your superior for several years. That’s why I don’t believe you, you’d never act against Roux. Against me, or anyone connected with me, you certainly would – right? '

'If you’re so sure, what’s the point of this interrogation?'

'I wanted to give you a chance to get out of it clean. I'm sorry that you haven’t taken it.'

'Can I go?'

'Good evening, Doctor.'


Under the pretence of a wanting a cigarette while I wait to say goodbye to the policewoman with green eyes, I’ve sent Fleury to get another pack from his car that’s parked some way off. From tonight I'll never see this woman again, and I'm sorry, a bit because I don’t get to spend much time with good-looking women now, and a bit because now I’ll be alone, facing my demons all the more.

I see Saintcolombe’s car drive away, that shit of a man. Someone grabs me by the arm, but he’s in shadows and I can’t make out the face.

'What the fuck are you doing?'

I drop the cigarette. The man stops my mouth with his hand and pushes me into the toilets into a small cubicle with no windows, it stinks of piss and shit. He shuts the door behind him, we’re in the dark, I can only see the black silhouette that’s dominating me, the eyes seem to shine. The darkness frightens me, it seems to crush me, it seems the walls are closing in on me, my legs are givig way. I'm about to fall to the ground but the man is holding me by my collar. He takes his hand from my mouth, but I don’t yell, no sound comes from me.

'You’re afraid to stay inside, aren’t you? You’re afraid of the dark too? You keep the light on on your bedside table at night? It’s shaped like a duck, isn’t it?'

I don’t answer, I focus on staying conscious. The past comes back to me like lightning and rumbles like thunder. The man's muffled voice comes from behind me as if through a door in a concrete wall - the wall of the bunker.

'Leave me alone...'

but my voice is a whisper, not the scream that I want.

'It’s me you have to be afraid of. If you go on talking about the whistle, I'll lock you in a hole, in a hole in the ground, with only a tube to breathe through. Do you understand?'

I do understand. Father's voice dominates everything. He speaks from on high, and he lays down the law. He tells me that I’m still doing wrong and I have to be punished with the stick, until he’s satisfied. I grab at an imaginary stick and try to raise it, but the man stops my arm.

'Stop fidgeting. Tell me you understand. Tell me!'

In the darkness of the bunker I find a window into the present and I grab at the bars, returning to this stinking toilet in front of my attacker. I only return for a moment, just long enough to let me move my lips and say that I understand... even if I don’t know what... or I’ve immediately forgotten...

The man leaves me, leaves the door open. The cold air outside is like an electric shock. I fall on my knees on the piss-wet tiles. I rise onto all fours and crawl in the dirt towards the exit.


As I leave off the Autogrill I see a car speeding off, flinging gravel. What's happening? Then I see Didier crawling out of the toilet. I go over to help him get up, just then the lawyer Fleury rushes across.

'What’s happened? Are you okay?'

'Nothing. Leave me alone.'

'Leave him, you heard what he said, didn’t you? '

Fleury pulls me to the side abruptly.

'Can you get up?'

He lifts himself up with difficulty. His pants are wet, his waterproof filthy, Fleury pulls it off and throws it aside. He wraps his own coat round Didier.

'Now I'll take you home.'

'De la Tour, wait a moment, were you attacked?'

Didier only turns his eyes.

'It doesn’t matter. Just words and no witnesses.'

Didier indicates Chief Investigating Magistrate D'Alembert coming out, pretending not to see us.

'Considering how they reacted just now, do you think anyone would believe me?'

'I believe you.'

'But not on important issues, it seems.'

Didier is swept away by his lawyer.

I give a stone a kick, but I can’t chase away the bad thoughts. I get in the car, Aubert’s picking me up.

'Where do we go now, Doctor?'

'Paris. And sound that fucking siren!'
 
At Home


Fleury accompanies me up the stairs, his presence makes it easier for me to cope with the enterprise; during the ascent we only chat about light topics, as we’ve done throughout the journey, taking my mind as far away as I can from the forest. I don’t want to tell him what happened in the toilet, and Fleury knows that it’s futile to insist. At last we come to the apartment, we enter, Fleury hesitates.

'Don’t you think it's time to get this place in order?'

'I’m not breaking any health and safety laws.'

I lock myself in the bathroom, tearing my clothes to take a shower. We continue to talk through the door.

'What happened to the cleaning lady?'

'Sacked her, too narrow-minded.'

'You could have told me.'

'Sorry – I don’t want to make you get a bad reputation with the agencies. It’s not the first time.'


I continue to rub, I still sense the smell of urine, but maybe it's just a trick of my mind.

'They know you’re an eccentric ...'

'Then find me someone who doesn’t know any French, so I don’t have to hide my documents.'

'And the girl you were seeing?'

Dumped her too. And don’t you go looking for another one through an agency!'

'I'm sorry.'

Wearing my anthracite-colored bathrobe I come out, and lounge on the couch.


'Sit down.'

Fleury remains standing in front of me.

'I'm worried about you. You never go out or see anyone. And now ... '

'Now what?'

'Don’t be silly.'

'Robert ... I was already convinced that Father was still alive, and now I have proof. It hasn’t changed much.

''But you’ve changed a lot.'

'I’ve survived so far, and I’ll go on surviving. Every so often, for sure, I’ll think about that little girl he’s holding prisoner and how she’s going through what I went through myself, but perhaps she’ll be more lucky.'

'Why not get away, go abroad?'

'I’m not his kind of prey any more.'

'We don’t know what is his kind of prey.'

'Everyone thinks he just kidnapped me and now he's dead.'

'But you don’t?'

'Go now. I have to take my pills, and I don’t want you to see how many I take. Do not forget to take away the bag with the filthy clothes.'

'And what about the assault?'

'I'm not going to press charges. Who would believe me? '

'Be careful! I’ll call you tomorrow.'

I wait to hear the horrible sounds of him going away. Then I leap up and turn off the light. The window-pane becomes brilliant, drawing arabesques of light on the floor, the moon is rising. Against the light of the sky the silhouette stands out of the twin spires on the school opposite. I wait until my eyes adjust to the darkness, then I close the curtains, leaving only a small opening to poke the head through. Now I just see a slice of the street below through the reflection of my face in the glass.


Father is out there, somewhere.


My prison is now as big as the world, I'm still his captive.



Aubert looks at me like a whipped dog as I open the door of the police car.

'I’m feeling shattered, doctor.'

'I’ll just say hello to Dr. Roux.'

'See you tomorrow, Doctor.'

'Be a good boy - or you’ll end up like me.'

I’ve got him to drop me off some way from the house, a walk along by the Seine will work off the tension. I feel tightness in my stomach, and a desire to be molested by some pig so I get my chance to work it off by punching his. I choose the poorest lit alleyways and slow down my pace when male specimens pass, to try and attract them, but the storm-cloud that surrounds me is enough to keep them away.

I’ve arrived. I’m feeling even more frustrated and almost want to knock at the door of the neighbour in the apartment on the floor below, the guy who once brought me a thong nicked off a washing line, he presented it to me with an X-ray stare in his eyes. I was limited to wresting it from his hand and sending him away, but now I'd like to meet him, the one with that suggestive smirk.

Instead I encounter Roux sitting on the top stair.
 
The Gun


I think I’ll ignore him and just skirt round of him. Or shall I take him by the ankle and drag him down the stairs, yelling at him in his face? I choose the third option and sit down beside him.

'Saintcolombe is pissed off.'

Roux lights a cigarette.

'Guess so. Who made those marks on your neck?'

I brush my hand across my throat, I’d almost forgotten.

'A guy who was in front of the school near De la Tour’s place.'

'You'll have taken a fancy to him.'

I do not reply to the provocation.

'Put that fag out. I don’t want the concierge blaming me. '

'Can we talk inside?'

'No.'

'Whatever.'

He opens the briefcase that’s lying on the step below, pulls out a holster belt and a compact Px4, seems like a replica of the standard issue. Ten rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. Easy to conceal.

'Are you kidding?'

Roux places it in the little space between us, the gun, four boxes of 9-calibre ammunition and a loaded magazine, on top of an authorisation docket with my photo from five years ago.

'Supply of arms for personal defence. The weapon is registered in your name. That authorisation, as you know, won’t be rescinded until you resign from the service.'

'That is until this precise moment. I'm fucking well handing in my resignation.'

'You can’t give up now.'

I strike my palm against the railing, it’s like a gong resounding through the stairwell.

'If, hypothetically, we had any chance of intervening in the investigation, we’ve blown it, De la Tour’s gone off his head!'

'And what if he's right?'

'Why the fuck do Saintcolombe and you want to stick at everything! I don’t, I'm sorry. Wait here while I bring that letter.'

Roux holds me by the arm.

'De la Tour told the truth about the whistle.'

'How do you know?'

'We'll talk about that in time. Meanwhile, read this. '

Roux pulls from his wallet a clear plastic envelope, passes it to me, and continues,

'Today it was put to De la Tour that he never spoke about the whistle, and he admitted it. In fact he never spoke about it with investigators, but he told a reporter. It was the only interview he gave.'

In the envelope there is a photocopy of an article in Paris Match dated August 1996. Three pictures of Didier accompany the article, sitting on a bench in a park, in outmoded clothes. The interview only mentions his imprisonment, it focuses on the Didier’s new-found life, his relationship with his father, returning home after a long time, his desire to spend more time outdoors. "I've been shut in for too long."

Who knows if he was already suffering from claustrophobia? Everything seems sweetened and fake. There is also a photo of the bunker, I’ve never seen that, it was blackened by the smoke when Borrel set fire to the farm before committing suicide - I feel a shudder imagining myself shut in there.

A sentence has been highlighted by Roux with a yellow marker, "A lot of my school stuff was recovered by the Police. Unfortunately not a metal whistle I thought was my good luck charm, but obviously it wasn’t."

I look up. Roux makes a sign with his finger,

'Unlikely that De la Tour has made this up as a trick to use twenty years later.'

'It only shows he’s not lying about his past, not that he is right about things now. His captor is dead and buried.'

'Supposing our colleagues were wrong then? Supposing Mr. De la Tour has been proclaiming the truth for twenty years and no-one’s ever believed him?'

'Might there be a reason why we shouldn’t believe him, doctor?' I say, pretending to be more sure than I am, 'Can you be certain the whistle wasn’t put there by him?'

'Yup.'

Roux gesticulates with his thumb,

'Look at the print attached to the article ...'

I pull off the paper clip, it’s a photo of the picnic-site.

'The UCV men are what they are, but they controlled all the roads away from the crime scene. Because they enjoy taking photos, they took one this morning of the pole where you found the whistle, and it wasn't there then.'

'That rules out one possibility, it wasn’t the killer on the run.'

'It got there after that, you're right. But it wasn’t rain that removed organic traces, because it didn’t rain during the afternoon.'

I look at him with suspicion.

'You knows a lot of what D'Alembert said today, I doubt whether he or Saintcolombe report back to you – was it that inspector?'

'An old friend,' Roux admits with a little embarrassment 'But anyway, the killer came back after UCV had gone, and hung it there.'

'But he risked being seen, for God’s sake?'

'Perhaps he had a good reason.'

'To leave his signature?'

'Yup. And just before the only person who’d be able to read it was going to pass by there.'

'This is insane!' I murmur in a low voice, feeling a chill taking hold of me, 'Sheer madness! It could be a coincidence. De la Tour could easily have missed it. Or...'

'Or the killer was still in the area and recognized him. You decide which version you want to believe ...'

I don’t mention to Roux that Didier was attacked, I grab my gun and run down the stairs.
 
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