The Watcher in the Shadows (Niebla 3)

Simone took a step into the shadows, her face flushed with anger.

‘You bastard!’

She walked in the direction of the voice. Gradually, her eyes made out the outline of a person sitting in an armchair. Lazarus. But there was something odd about his face. Simone stopped.

‘It’s a mask,’ he said.

‘Why?’ she asked. The calm she had experienced earlier was rapidly abandoning her.

‘Masks reveal a person’s true face . . .’

Simone struggled to maintain her composure. Getting angry wouldn’t help her.

‘Where are my children? Please . . .’

‘I’ve already told you, Madame Sauvelle. I don’t know.’

‘What are you going to do with me?’

Lazarus unfolded one of his hands, encased in a satin glove. A glimmer of light caught the surface of the mask. That was the sparkle she’d noticed earlier.

‘I’m not going to hurt you, Simone. You mustn’t be afraid of me. You have to trust me.’

‘That seems a little out of place, don’t you think?’

‘It’s for your own good. I’m trying to protect you.’

‘Who from?’

‘Please sit down.’

‘What on earth is going on here? Why won’t you tell me?’

Simone noticed her voice becoming weak and childish. Realising she was close to hysteria, she clenched her fists and took a deep breath. She retreated a few steps and then sat on one of the chairs set around an empty table.

‘Thank you,’ murmured Lazarus.

A silent tear ran down her face.

‘Before I say anything else, I want you to know that I’m truly sorry you’ve become mixed up in all this,’ declared the toymaker. ‘I never thought it would come to this.’

‘There never was a boy called Jean Neville, was there?’ asked Simone. ‘That boy was you. The story you told me . . . was a half-truth derived from your own life.’

‘I see you’ve been reading my collection of newspaper cuttings. That may have led you to form some interesting, but mistaken ideas.’

‘The only idea I have formed, Mr Jann, is that you’re sick and you need help. I don’t know how you managed to drag me here, but I can assure you that as soon as I get out of this place, my first visit will be to the police station. Kidnapping is a crime . . .’

Her words sounded ridiculous in the context.

‘May I infer that you’re thinking of giving up your job, Madame Sauvelle?’

This strange piece of irony set alarm bells ringing. The Lazarus she knew would never make such a comment. Although, quite frankly, the only thing she was clear about was that she didn’t know him at all.

‘You can infer whatever you please,’ she replied coldly.

‘Good. In that case, before you go to the authorities, and you have my permission, let me complete the story that I’m sure you’ve already tried to piece together in your mind.’

Simone stared at the mask. It was pale and completely expressionless. A porcelain face. His eyes were two pools of darkness.