Labyrinth by Kate Mosse
‘Really?’ She found it surprising Carcassonne was under the same jurisdiction as Foix.
Authié took possession of Alice’s chair, leaving her with no choice but to sit with her back to the entrance. She felt wary, cautious of him.
He had the practised smile of a politician, expedient, watchful and non-committal. It did not reach his eyes.
‘I have one or two questions, Dr Tanner.’
‘I’m not sure there’s anything else I can tell you. I went through everything I could remember with the Inspector.’
‘Inspector Noubel has given me a thorough summary of your statement. However, I need you to go through it once more. There are discrepancies, certain points in your story that need clarification. There might be details you forgot before, things that seemed insignificant at the time.’
Alice bit her tongue. ‘I told the Inspector everything,’ she repeated stubbornly.
Authié pressed the tips of his fingers together, ignoring her objections. He didn’t smile. ‘Let us start from the moment you first entered the chamber, Dr Tanner. Step by step.’
Alice jolted at his choice of words. Step by step? Was he testing her? His face revealed nothing. Her eyes fell to a gold crucifix he wore around his neck, then back to his grey eyes, still staring at her.
Since she felt she had no choice, she began once more. To start with, Authié listened in an intense, concentrated silence. Then the interrogation started. He’s trying to catch me out.
‘Were the words inscribed at the top of the steps legible, Dr Tanner? Did you take the time to read them?’
‘Most of the letters were rubbed away,’ she said defiantly, challenging him to contradict her. When he did not, Alice felt a burst of satisfaction. ‘I walked down the steps to the lower level, towards the altar. Then I saw the bodies.’
‘Did you touch them?’
‘No.’
He made a slight sound, as if he didn’t believe her, then reached into his jacket. ‘This is yours?’ he said, opening his hand to reveal her blue plastic lighter.
Alice went to take it, but he drew his arm back.
‘May I have it please?’
‘Is it yours, Dr Tanner?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded, then slipped it back into his pocket. ‘You say you did not touch the bodies. However, before, you told Inspector Noubel you had.’
Alice flushed. ‘It was an accident. I knocked one of the skulls with my foot, but I didn’t touch them, as such.’
‘Dr Tanner, this will go more easily if you just answer my questions.’ The same cold, hard voice.
‘I can’t see what — ’
‘What did they look like?’ he said sharply.
Alice felt Noubel flinch at the bullying tone, but he didn’t do anything to check it. Her stomach twisting with nerves, she did her best.
‘And what did you see between the bodies?’
‘A dagger, a knife of some sort. Also a small bag, leather I think.’ Don’t let him intimidate you. ‘I don’t know, since I didn’t touch it.’
Authié narrowed his eyes. ‘Did you look inside the bag?’
‘I’ve told you, I didn’t touch anything — ’
‘Except for the ring, yes.’ He suddenly leaned forward, like a snake about to strike. ‘And this I find mysterious, Dr Tanner. What I’m asking myself is why you should be interested enough in the ring to pick it up, yet leave everything else undisturbed. You understand my confusion?’
Alice met his gaze. ‘It caught my eye. That’s all.’
He gave a sardonic smile. ‘In the almost pitch black of the cave, you noticed this one, tiny object? How big is it? The size of, say, a one-euro piece? A little larger, smaller?’
Don’t tell him anything.
‘I would have thought you were capable of assessing its dimensions for yourself,’ she said coldly.
He smiled. With a sinking feeling, Alice realised she’d somehow played into his hands.
‘If only I could, Dr Tanner,’ he said mildly. ‘But now we come to the heart of the matter. There is no ring.’
Alice turned cold. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Exactly what I say. The ring is not there. Everything else is, more or less, as you describe it. But no ring.’
Alice recoiled as Authié placed his hands on her chair and brought his thin, pale face close to hers. ‘What have you done with it, Alice?’ he whispered.
Don’t let him bully you. You’ve done nothing wrong.
‘I have told you precisely what happened,’ she said, struggling to keep the fear from her voice. ‘The ring slipped out of my hand when I dropped the lighter. If it’s not there now, someone else must have taken it. Not me.’ She darted a glance at Noubel. ‘If I had taken it, why would I mention it at all in the first place?’
‘No one other than you claims to have seen this mysterious ring,’ he said, ignoring her comments, ‘which leaves us with one of two options. Either you are mistaken in what you saw. Or else you took it?’
Inspector Noubel finally intervened. ‘Monsieur Authié, really I don’t think . . .’
‘You are not paid to think,’ he snapped, without even looking at the Inspector. Noubel coloured. Authié continued to stare at Alice. ‘I’m only stating the facts.’
Alice felt she was engaged in a battle, except no one had told her the rules. She was telling the truth, but she could see no way of persuading him.
‘Lots of people went into the cave after me,’ she said doggedly. ‘The forensic people, police officers, Inspector Noubel, you.’ She stared defiantly at him. ‘You were in there a long time.’ Noubel sucked in his breath. ‘Shelagh O’Donnell can back me up about the ring. Why don’t you ask her?’
He gave the same half-smile. ‘But I have. She says she knows nothing about the ring.’
‘But I told her all about it,’ she cried. ‘She looked for it herself.’
‘Are you saying Dr O’Donnell examined the grave?’ he said sharply.
Fear was stopping her thinking straight. Her brain had given up. She could no longer remember what she’d said to Noubel and what she’d kept back.
Was it Dr O‘Donnell who gave you permission to work there in the first place?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she said, her panic growing.
‘Well, did she do anything to prevent you from working that part of the mountain?’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
He sat back in his chair. ‘In which case, I’m afraid I have no choice.’
‘No choice but to do what?’
He darted his gaze to her rucksack. Alice dived for it, but she was too slow. Authié got there first and thrust it at Inspector Noubel.
‘You’ve got absolutely no right,’ she shouted. She turned on the Inspector. ‘He can’t do this, can he? Why don’t you do something?’
‘Why object if you have nothing to hide?’ said Authié.
‘It’s a matter of principle! You can’t just go through my things.’
‘Monsieur Authié, je ne suis pas certain — ’
‘Just do what you’re told, Noubel.’
Alice tried to grab the bag. Authié’s arm shot up and took hold of her wrist. She was so shocked at the physical contact that she froze. Her legs started to shake, whether out of anger or fear she couldn’t tell.
She jerked her arm free of Authié’s grip and sat back, breathing heavily as Noubel searched through the pockets.
‘Continuez. Depechez-vous.’
Alice watched as he moved on to the main section of the bag, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before he found her sketchpad. The Inspector caught her eye. He hates this too. Unfortunately, Authié had also noticed Noubel’s slight hesitation.
‘What is it, Inspector?’
‘Pas de bague.’
‘What have you found?’ said Authié, holding out his hand. Noubel reluctantly handed him the pad. Authié flicked the pages with a patronising look on his face. Then his loo
He snapped the sketchbook shut.
‘Merci de votre . . . collaboration, Dr Tanner,’ he said.
Alice also stood up. ‘My drawings, please,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
‘They will be returned to you in due course,’ he said, slipping the sketchbook inside his pocket. ‘The bag also. Inspector Noubel will give you a receipt for it and have your statement typed up for you to sign.
Alice was taken by surprise by the sudden and abrupt end to the interview. By the time she’d gathered her wits, Authié had already left the tent taking her belongings with him.
‘Why don’t you stop him?’ she said, turning on Noubel.
‘Don’t think I’m going to let him get away with that.’
His expression hardened. ‘I’ll get your bag back, Dr Tanner. My advice is to get on with your holiday. Forget all about this.’
‘There’s no way I’m going to let this go,’ she shouted, but Noubel had already gone, leaving her alone in the middle of the tent, wondering what the hell had just happened.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. She was furious, as much with herself as Authié, at being so easily intimidated. But he’s different. She’d never reacted so strongly against someone in her life.
The shock gradually wore off. She was tempted to report Authié straight away to Dr Brayling, or even to Shelagh, she wanted to do something. She dismissed the idea. Given her status as persona non grata right now, no one was going to be sympathetic.
Alice was forced to satisfy herself by composing a letter of complaint in her head, as she turned over what had happened and tried to make sense of it. A little later, a different police officer brought the statement for her to sign. Alice read it through thoroughly, but it was an accurate record so far as it went, and she scrawled her signature across the bottom of the page without hesitation.
The Pyrenees were bathed in a soft red light by the time the bones were finally brought out from the cave.
Everybody fell silent as the sombre procession made its way down the slopes towards the car park, where the line of white and blue police vehicles stood waiting. One woman crossed herself as they passed by.
Alice joined everybody else on the brow of the hill to watch the police load the mortuary van. No one spoke. The doors were secured, then the vehicle accelerated out of the car park in a shower of gravel and dust. Most of her colleagues went back up to gather their belongings straight away, supervised by two officers who were to secure the site once everyone was ready to leave. Alice lingered a while, unwilling to face anybody, knowing that sympathy would be even harder to deal with than hostility.
From her vantage point on the hill, Alice watched as the solemn convoy zigzagged away down the valley, getting smaller and smaller until it was no more than a smudge on the horizon.
The camp had grown quiet around her. Realising she couldn’t delay any longer, Alice was about to go back up too when she noticed Authié hadn’t yet gone. She edged a little closer, watching with interest as he laid his jacket carefully on the back seat of his expensive-looking silver car. He slammed the door, and then took a phone from his pocket. Alice could hear the gentle drumming of his fingers on the roof as he waited for a connection.
When he spoke, the message was brief and to the point.
‘Ce n’est plus là,’ was all he said. It’s gone.
CHAPTER 14
Chartres
The great Gothic cathedral of Notre Dame de Chartres towered high above the patchwork of pepper-tiled rooftops and gables, and half-timbered and limestone houses which make up the historic city centre. Below the crowded labyrinth of narrow, curving streets, in the shadows of the buildings, the river Eure was still in the dappled light of the late afternoon sun.
Tourists jostled one another at the West Door of the cathedral. Men wielded their video cameras like weapons, recording rather than experiencing the brilliant kaleidoscope of colour spilling from the three lancet windows above the Royal Portal.
Until the eighteenth century, the nine entrances leading into the cathedral close could be sealed at times of danger. The gates were long gone now, but the attitude of mind persisted. Chartres was still a city of two halves, the old and the new. The most exclusive streets were those to the north of the Cloister, where the Bishop’s Palace once stood. The pale stone edifices looked out imperiously towards the cathedral, shrouded with an air of centuries-old Catholic influence and power.
The house of the de l’Oradore family dominated the rue du Cheval Blanc. It had survived the Revolution and the Occupation and stood now as a testimony to old money. Its brass knocker and letterbox gleamed and the shrubs in the planters on either side of the steps leading up to its double doors were perfectly clipped.
The front door led into an imposing hall. The floor was dark, polished wood and a heavy glass vase of freshly cut white lilies sat on an oval table at its centre. Display cases set around the edges — each with a discreet alarm – contained a priceless selection of Egyptian artefacts acquired by the de l’Oradore family after Napoleon’s triumphant return from his North African campaigns in the early nineteenth century. It was one of the largest Egyptian collections in private hands.
The current head of the family, Marie-Cécile de l’Oradore, traded in antiques of all periods, although she shared her late grandfather’s preference for the medieval past. Two substantial French tapestries hung on the panelled wall opposite the front door, both of which she had acquired since coming into her inheritance five years ago. The family’s most valuable pieces – pictures, jewellery, manuscripts – were locked away in the safe, out of sight.
In the master bedroom on the first floor of the house, overlooking the rue du Cheval Blanc, Will Franklin, Marie-Cecile’s current lover, lay on his back on the four-poster bed with the sheet pulled up to his waist.
His tanned arms were folded behind his head and his light brown hair, streaked blond by childhood summers spent at Martha’s Vineyard, framed an engaging face and little-boy-lost smile.
Marie-Cécile herself was sitting in an ornate Louis XIV armchair beside the fireplace, her long, smooth legs crossed at the knees. The ivory sheen of her silk camisole shimmered against the deep blue velvet upholstery.
She had the distinctive profile of the de l’Oradore family, a pale, aquiline beauty, although her lips were both sensuous and full and her cat-like green eyes were fringed with generous dark lashes. Her perfectly cut black curls skimmed the top of chiselled shoulders.
‘This is such a great room,’ said Will. ‘The perfect setting for you. Cool, expensive, subtle.’
The tiny diamond studs in her ears glinted as she leaned forward to stub out her cigarette.
‘It was my grandfather’s room originally.’
Her English was flawless, with just a shimmer of a French accent that still turned him on. She stood up and walked across the room towards him, her feet making no sound on the thick, pale blue carpet.
Will smiled expectantly as he breathed in the unique smell of her: sex, Chanel and a hint of Gauloise.
‘Over,’ she said, making a twisting movement with her finger in the air. ‘Turn over.’
Will did as he was told. Marie-Cécile began to massage his neck and broad shoulders. He could feel his body stretch and relax under her touch. Neither of them paid any attention to the sound of the front door opening and closing below. He didn’t even register the voices in the hall, the footsteps taking the stairs two by two and striding along the corridor.
There were a couple of sharp raps on the bedroom door. ‘Maman!’
Will tensed.
‘It’s only my son,’ she said. ‘Qui? Qu’est-ce que cest?’
‘Maman! Je veux te parler.’
Will lifted his head. ‘I thought he wasn’t due back until tomorrow.’
‘He isn’t.’
‘Maman!’François-
‘If I’m in the way . . .’ he said awkwardly.
Marie-Cécile continued to massage his shoulders. ‘He knows not to disturb me. I will talk to him later.’ She raised her voice. ‘Pas maintenant, François-Baptiste.’ Then she added in English for Will’s benefit, as she ran her hands down his back: ‘Now is not . . . convenient.’
Will rolled on to his back and sat up, feeling embarrassed. In the three months he’d known Marie-Cécile, he’d never met her son. Francois-Baptiste had been away at university, then on holiday with friends. Only now did it occur to him that Marie-Cécile had engineered it.
‘Aren’t you going to talk to him?’
‘If it makes you happy,’ she said, slipping off the bed.
She opened the door a fraction. There was a muffled exchange that Will couldn’t hear, then the sound of feet stomping off down the hall. She turned the key in the lock and turned back to face him.
‘Better?’ she said softly.
Slowly, she moved back towards him, looking at him from the fringe of her long, dark eyelashes. There was something deliberate about her movements, like a performance, but Will felt his body respond all the same.
She pushed him back on to the bed and straddled him, draping her elegant arms over his shoulders. Her sharp nails left faint scratch marks across his skin. He could feel her knees pressing into his sides. He reached up and ran his fingers down her smooth, toned arms and brushed her breasts with the back of his hands through the silk. The thin silk straps slipped easily from her sculptured shoulders.
The mobile phone lying on the bedside table rang. Will ignored it. He eased the delicate camisole down her lean body to her waist.
‘They’ll call back if it’s important.’
Marie-Cécile glanced at the number on the screen. Immediately, her mood changed.
‘I must take this,’ she said.
Will tried to stop her, but she pushed him away impatiently. ‘Not now.’
Covering herself, she walked away to the window. ‘Oui. J’écoute.’
He heard the crackle of a bad line. ‘Trouve-le, alors!’ she said and disconnected. Her face flushed with anger, Marie-Cécile reached for a cigarette and lit it. Her hands were shaking.