Seen and Not Heard (Maggie Bennett 4)

“Not as serious as murder. Listen, I’ve been living with someone who’s been killing old women. His name is Marc Bonnard, and he’s absolutely crazy. He’s going to kill me and the child with me, and if you don’t send help …”

“Please hold,” the damned voice said again.

And Claire, staring at the telephone in mute fury, slammed down the receiver. “Nicole …”

But Nicole was staring straight ahead, oblivious to the thwarted phone conversation, oblivious to the rain pouring down on her head, oblivious to the dark, deadly night.

The streets of the tiny village had been deserted when Claire first placed her call, but now in the distance she could see a door open, a small pool of light flooding the rainy darkness. She gently pushed Nicole back into the car, then raced down the roadway to the door, only to have it slam shut in her face. She threw herself against it, pounding on it, screaming and crying for help.

The only response was an incomprehensible babble of French. Claire didn’t need a translation to know she was being told to go away. For a moment her knees buckled, and she sagged against the door, weeping. But only for a moment. She shoved herself back, upright, and turned to the car, to the oblivious, waiting Nicole.

“No help here,” she said briskly, ignoring the tears staining her face, climbing in the car, and starting the motor. This time it purred to life, one tiny blessing in a world turned angry and hostile. “We’ll have to head for a larger city. At least we’ve got …” Her voice trailed off in sudden horror. “No,” she said after a moment, “we don’t have money. Tom has it all.”

Nicole said nothing. “We don’t have any protection either,” Claire said aloud, despairing. “Tom had the money, and the gun. We’ll have to go back.” She turned and looked at Nicole, waiting for a protest, a change of expression. Nothing.

“All right,” she muttered under her breath. “We’ll go back. Marc should be long gone by now. He’d never think we’d be stupid enough to hang around. We’ll go back, get the gun and the money, and then drive straight to … God, I don’t even know where we are! I don’t know where the nearest city is, I don’t know where the frontier is.” Her voice was rising in desperation, and she forced herself to calmness.

“We’ll be all right,” she said, refusing to think how she was going to find the money and the gun. She’d have to search Tom’s corpse, have to rifle in his dead pockets, and if she hadn’t gone mad with grief and fear yet, that could be enough to push her over the edge.

But not with Nicole depending on her. She could hold out long enough to get them to safety, hold out long enough to get Nicole to her great-aunt. And then she could give in to all the misery and guilt that were battering at her. Then she could give in to anguish and despair.

It took her just as long to retrace her path to the old barn. Every wrong turn, every dead end she’d hit on the way out, she hit on the way in. She’d lost all consciousness of time, dreading the moment when she found the old barn again, content to spend the night driving through the deserted, muddy roads, the silent child by her side.

And then she thought to check the gas gauge. It took her a while to find it, and then she wished she hadn’t. The car was smack dead on empty, and there was no telling how long it had been there. If she got to the barn, found the money and the gun, they might not be able to escape. Marc could be hiding somewhere there, watching, waiting for them.

She had to take the chance. If she didn’t get the money she wouldn’t be able to fill the tank, and sooner or later they’d run out, and be left like sitting ducks for Marc to finish with them. It was her only choice, and she had to take it. But God, she wished there was someone else who could do it for her.

The rain had stopped when she finally found the old barn. There was no sign of another car, but the night was dark, and a white Fiat could be hiding anywhere nearby, and Claire wouldn’t be able to see. Nicole was still sitting upright in the front seat, eyes blank and staring, and for a moment Claire considered leaving her in the car, rather than subject her to the sight of Tom’s body once more.

She didn’t dare. She had no idea if they were alone there in the woods, but she couldn’t take the chance. The only way she could protect Nicole was to keep her with her. It was unlikely the child could be any more traumatized than she was already. One more view of a dead man she had barely known wouldn’t be the end.

But Nicole had liked him. She’d opened up to Tom more than she’d opened up to anyone before—she’d laughed with him, the first time Claire had ever heard her laugh. He would have been a marvelous father, full of fun and life, willing to take chances, willing to try anything. And Marc had finished all that, wiped it out, just as he’d wiped out a child’s innocence.

The candles were still burning, just as they had been when Claire had grabbed Nicole and run, but the flames were burning down low, casting eerie shadows in the huge old building. Claire had Nicole’s cold, limp hand grasped tightly in her own as she edged inside the doorway, looking around her, every sense, every instinct, tuned in to the night air around them.

“Stay here,” she whispered, releasing Nicole’s hand and pushing her gently against the thick stone wall. Nicole stayed, her face blank, as Claire turned to the bloody spot where Tom’s body lay.

The blood was still there, a thick, congealed pool of it. The body was gone.

“She’s called in, sir.” The voice came crackling over the police car phone. “She hung up while I was getting Chief Inspector Clery to talk with her. She said Bonnard’s killed the American, and he’s after her and the little girl.”

“Shit.” Malgreave leaned back. “We’ve got to get that murdering bastard before he kills anyone else. Did she say where she was?”

“The dispatcher didn’t speak English

very well …”

Malgreave almost put his fist through the windshield. “Why the hell didn’t they have someone who could speak English answer the goddamned phone?”

“They were trying to get someone …”

“So we don’t know where she was?” Malgreave cut him off ruthlessly.

“We were able to trace her, sir. She was calling from a public phone in the village of Jassy. The call came in about thirty-five minutes ago …”

“And it took you that long to call me?”

“She said the dead man was in an abandoned barn somewhere outside of Jassy.”