Bright Angel (13 page)

‘It's just routine, I expect,' said Mick, comfortingly. ‘They need to find out stuff. Anyway, we know he
can't
be involved, don't we? The kidnap must have happened while he was out of the house, coming to meet us. So he has an alibi, and if he needs it, we can give it to him.'

I swallowed, blushed. ‘I wish you wouldn't say it like that. It sounds like–'

‘I know. Sorry. Didn't mean it like that. Look, I think the kidnappers must have been watching the house. They must have seen him going.'

‘Yes, but they wouldn't know for how long.'

‘He had his bike. Reasonable to assume he was going out for a while. Now, what other adults would be in the house besides the nanny?'

‘The maid and the cook,' I said.

‘They could have been out too – or having a siesta or something like that. That house looks big – they could even have been in the kitchen, say, and not heard a thing.'

I nodded. It made sense, even to my flustered mind. I said, with a catch in my throat, ‘Poor little Gabriel.'

‘I don't expect they're going to hurt him,' said Mick.

‘Why not?'

‘They want money. Publicity. You heard that guy. They even sent a statement to the police. They're not exactly hiding what they did. They haven't threatened.'

‘We don't know that. We don't know what they want. You're just making up theories,' I said.

He smiled. ‘Okay, so maybe I am. What are your thoughts on it?'

‘I don't know,' I said, helplessly. ‘I really don't know. I don't have the heart to think of theories. I just keep thinking of Gabriel with those – those people, and how he must feel. And Daniel at the police station – he must be going through hell and I wish I could...'

‘Poor Sylvie,' he said. ‘You're going through hell too and here I am blethering on. We need to do something constructive, don't we? First, I'll check up on that guy's story, make sure he hasn't got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Then we can also find out where Daniel is and go and tell the police about how he was in the woods and all that. He might have told them already but that will back him up. What do you think? Is that a good idea?'

I nodded, mutely. I certainly couldn't think of anything else I could do right at this moment. And I was just so glad of his energy and his brave good humour. I couldn't share it myself but it made me feel a little bit better, less scared. My instinct had been right about Michael the fighter, I thought, vaguely. His presence was just what I needed, right now.

It was no use going back to Daniel's house. The policemen there wouldn't tell us anything. Instead, Mick made a few phone calls and finally managed to work out that Daniel had most likely been taken to Toulouse.

Mick's old car wasn't exactly capable of going like the wind but we still managed to cover the hundred and twenty kilometres to Toulouse in a whole lot less time than normal. It couldn't have been too quick for me. I get a bit scared when people go fast in cars but today I didn't even think about it. Nothing mattered except getting to Daniel as soon as possible.

We talked a bit along the way, but I can hardly remember what we said, my head was booming with too much anxiety. At one point I thought briefly about Freddy and Claire and what they might think if I was away too long but I didn't think about it too much. After all, I had told Freddy that I would not be back till dinnertime, and it was still only early afternoon. As to Claire, she was busy with Marc and the film, and she wouldn't notice. We'd be back before they even knew anything had happened, I told myself. Freddy was shut up in her room writing and Claire was in the forest watching the shoot. Neither of them would have any idea of the drama at Daniel's house.

We had to park some distance away from police headquarters in Toulouse, an imposing red brick building that filled me with dread just looking at it. But Mick didn't seem at all intimidated. He strode in through the revolving door with me following timidly after him and at the front desk explained in rapid French what we wanted.

We were asked to wait and sat in the reception area for what seemed like ages and ages but was maybe half an hour or so. We didn't talk. Mick leafed through a magazine but I couldn't concentrate on anything like that. It wasn't exactly a relaxing sort of place to be. Hard-faced, armed, uniformed cops patrolled the lobby, and there was a big security check area through which people came and went. Nobody looked at us or took any notice of us, but I could feel my heart beating fast, and my palms felt sticky with sweat. And it wasn't just because of what had happened, but also because the last time I'd been in a police station was after Thomas Radic had killed himself, and I'd had to give a witness statement. The same feeling of sitting there, waiting, unable to process the terrible event I'd just been through or to make sense of anything, was flooding through me again. This sure was deja vu. Why me? I thought, desperately. Why does this have to happen again? Then I scolded myself for being so selfish and self-pitying. This wasn't about me. This was about Daniel. And Gabriel. Just as before hadn't been about me, but about Thomas Radic. And Helen. I'd just been a bystander. In the wrong place at the wrong time. Oh, God, the wrong place at the wrong time. If I hadn't been in that clearing with Mick – if Daniel had been at the house when the kidnap occurred instead, then what? How could he have stopped it? The kidnapper – or kidnappers, quite likely there had been more than one of them – must have come prepared. Armed. He would just have been attacked too, like her, if he tried to stop them. Maybe even worse.

At last our names were called. A uniformed cop escorted us through the security check – it was just like in an airport, you had to put your things through a bag check and then go through one of those metal detector things – and then down some corridors to yet another waiting room. We waited there for about ten minutes. Then one of the doors along the passage opened and a couple of plainclothes police came towards us. One was a blond guy about forty, dressed in a grey suit. The other was a small, slim woman in her late twenties or early thirties. With dark, elegantly cropped hair and startlingly green eyes, she was wearing jeans and a white shirt under a leather jacket.

‘Mademoiselle Mandon? Monsieur Stephan?' said the man, consulting a file he held in his hands.

We nodded.

‘I am Captain Gaudry. This is Lieutenant Jettou. She speaks English. I understand you prefer this to French, mademoiselle?'

I said, haltingly, ‘I – I do not prefer, I just can't speak it fast.'

He did not smile. His expression did not change. ‘Very well. You will go with Lieutenant Jettou, Mademoiselle. Monsieur, please come with me.'

Lieutenant Jettou took me to a small room where another police officer, a young guy whose name she mentioned, but that I don't remember, was also waiting. He was clearly junior to her. His job mainly seemed to turn on the recorder and listen.

She asked me my full name first and date and place of birth and then she looked at me and said, ‘Mademoiselle Mandon, you are here to make a statement about Daniel Aubrac. Is that so?'

I nodded.

‘Please say it, for the benefit of the tape.'

I blushed. ‘Yes. I am here to make a statement about Daniel Aubrac.'

Her green eyes searched my face. ‘Why do you want to do this?'

The question threw me. ‘I – I don't want anyone to think that–' I broke off. She said nothing, just kept her gaze fixed on me. I swallowed, and went on, ‘That he could be in any way involved with the crime. The kidnap of Gabriel.'

‘I see.' She consulted her file. But rather than ask me more about that – rather than ask me to give my statement as to how I knew that, she said, ‘How long have you known Daniel and Gabriel Aubrac?'

‘Only a few days. But I–'

‘How many days, precisely, mademoiselle?'

‘Um, since I, since we arrived in St-Bertrand.' I saw her expression, and hurried on, ‘Three days ago.'

‘Not before then? You are quite sure?'

‘Yes. Of course. I live in Australia. I first met Gabriel and Daniel in the cathedral the afternoon of the day we arrived. Later we became ... good friends.'

‘I see. Did you go to their house?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did Daniel ever speak to you of any threats made against his family?'

My pulse raced. ‘No.'

‘Do you know Benedict Udo? Daniel Aubrac's uncle, mademoiselle,' she asked, watching me.

‘No. No. Not at all. But I've heard – I've heard he was attacked in London.'

Her eyes sharpened. ‘Daniel told you?'

‘No. A friend – er – my sister's friend, Marc Fleury.'

‘Ah yes. The writer. He is in St-Bertrand to watch the filming of his book, yes?'

‘That's right. ‘

‘Very well. Why did you come to St-Bertrand, mademoiselle? It is remote and not really the sort of place I would expect a young person to choose for their holiday.'

‘My aunt Freddy – she – she invited my sister Claire and me. She's rented a house here. She's a writer. She–'

‘She is working with the filmmakers?'

‘No. That was just a coincidence. We–'

‘What is your aunt's name, mademoiselle?'

‘Freddy – I mean – Frederique Mandon.'

‘A French name.'

‘She's American. From Louisiana. Like my father. She writes under the name FS Mandon. I don't know if any of her books have been translated into French.'

She raised an elegant eyebrow. ‘What is an American writer doing in St-Bertrand, of all places?'

‘She's writing a book about Herod.'

‘Herod?'

‘He was exiled to St-Bertrand by the Roman emperor. That's why she came here, to get, like, the local colour. The atmosphere.' I felt more and more nervous, my palms sweating. Why was she asking me all these irrelevant questions? I just wanted to make my statement and go.

‘I see. Your aunt is your father's sister, correct?'

‘Yes.'

‘Your parents did not come with you to France, madem oiselle. Why is that?'

‘They're at home, working,' I said. ‘A very demanding job. They could not get away.'

‘Do you live with them?'

‘No. I live in the city with my sister. Mum and Dad – where they live it's very remote. There are no schools.'

‘So you are a student, mademoiselle?'

‘Pardon?'

‘You are at school.'

I nodded, then remembered I had to say it. ‘Yes. I'm at school.'

‘It is school holidays in Australia?'

‘No. But–'

‘Is your sister a student too?'

‘No. She works in a publisher's office. She–'

‘It is unusual for a school student to have a holiday in school term time, no? It would be so in France, anyway. Perhaps in Australia they have a more relaxed attitude.'

I swallowed. ‘I don't see what that has to do with–'

‘Please, mademoiselle. Answer the question.'

‘I think it's okay to do this in Australia. But anyway, there was a reason for us to go just then. Something happened back at home and my parents thought it would be best if we went to stay with Freddy and recover...'

‘Is that so? Please tell me what happened.'

‘Do I have to? I don't like to talk about it. Look, I just want to make my statement. For Daniel. Please, I don't see why–'

‘We need to ask all sorts of background questions,' she said quietly. ‘I am sorry, but it is just routine. Please, mademoiselle, tell me what happened.'

‘My sister and I were in this place – a wedding shop – when this guy, he burst in and then he shot himself. Right in front of us. It was ... it was ... I can't describe it, properly.'

‘Yes. It must have been very traumatic,' she said, with the first sign of warmth I'd seen so far. ‘Where and when did this happen, mademoiselle?'

I gave her the details, briefly. Then I said, ‘But please, now can't I tell you what I came here to tell you?'

‘Very soon. Please give me the details of your parents, mademoiselle, and those of your aunt.' As I told them to her, she wrote them down. ‘Thank you, mademoiselle Mandon. Now, one final question – how well do you know Monsieur Stephan?'

For an instant I didn't know who she was talking about, then remembered it was Mick's surname. I said, ‘I've only known him a little while too. Only met him here. He's Australian, but he's lived in France for ages. He's a computer person, but he is also doing freelance work for GEIPAN.' I went on, hurriedly, because she looked puzzled. ‘It's that unit of the French space research centre that investigates UFOs.'

Now she looked astonished. ‘UFOs?'

‘Yes. You can look them up. They're kosher. Really. Mick's been great. He's so kind.'

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. I thought, she's getting hold of the wrong end of the stick. ‘He's just a friend,' I protested.

‘Mmm. Did these two men – Monsieur Stephan and Monsieur Aubrac – know each other previously?'

‘No. It was the first time they'd ever met.'

‘So they met through you, correct?'

I looked quickly at her. What was she getting at? I said, ‘I suppose so.'

‘Very well. Now, mademoiselle, tell me what you so much want to say.'

So I told her. Everything from meeting Mick that morning to the moment when Daniel walked into that clearing, right up to finding ourselves here. She listened to me in silence, without interrupting. Then she said, ‘He rang Monsieur Stephan to say he would be delayed? You are sure of that?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did he give a reason for being delayed?'

I frowned. ‘I – I don't remember. I think he just said something had come up.'

‘Very well. Now, we will get this statement typed up, and we will require you to sign it before you go.'

‘Yes. Sure.' I swallowed, hesitated, then hurried on. ‘Please, Lieutenant, won't you tell me, I mean, are you ... have you arrested Daniel?'

‘Daniel Aubrac is merely helping us with our inquiries,' she said calmly.

‘But what does that mean? Is he just a witness, or do you suspect him of something? Where is he? Can I see him? Please?'

‘I am sorry, mademoiselle. That is not possible.'

‘Can you at least give him a message from me?'

‘That is not possible either, mademoiselle.'

‘And Gabriel. Have you got any idea if he's okay and where he might be?'

Her green eyes flashed. ‘If we knew that, we'd hardly be here,' she snapped, and I blushed for my own stupidity. Then she softened. ‘Our top priority is to find the child, you can be assured of that. But so far as we know, there has been no indication of a wish to harm him. For the present.'

I shivered. ‘But why did the kidnappers take him? Have they made demands? Asked for a ransom?'

‘We will be releasing a statement to the press tonight,' she said, standing up. ‘You will read it in the papers tomorrow morning. Now, mademoiselle Mandon, thank you for coming in. You have been very helpful. I may need to speak to you again. I trust that is possible.'

‘Yes. That's fine, no problem,' I mumbled, feeling very close to tears. I had learned practically nothing, and I feared I had not been able to help Daniel really at all. ‘Helping us with our inquiries.' I'd heard that sort of thing before, in crime films. It usually means they suspect you of something, or something in your story doesn't add up, and usually it's not because you've walked into the police station of your own free will, like Mick and I had.

But she hadn't definitely said he'd been arrested or charged. She'd just asked a lot of roundabout questions. And she hadn't answered any of mine, not really. The only thing she'd let slip was when she'd asked me whether Daniel had ever said anything about threats made against his family. That meant that there had been some. Or did it? Was it just a leading question, to see what I'd answer? A sudden coldness fingered at my spine. Surely she didn't think I was involved? Was that what the purpose of all those questions had been, about why I'd come to St-Bertrand, and how long I'd known the Aubracs? Did she maybe think I was part of the kidnap plot, somehow?

Mick was already back in the waiting room. ‘Are you okay?' he whispered as I went and sat next to him, my legs trembling a little.