Lost (21 page)

‘A cache? Wait.’

‘You want to put him away. Search Le Losange. There’s a big arms cache.’

It was Liliane.

‘What about the child? Liliane? Wait.’

She had hung up. The light on the switchboard blinked and then went out. He had not even recorded the call.

Stuart went into his office and closed the door. The room was dark. He went to his desk, turned on the anglepoise and began to look for his old notebook in the drawer. Liliane’s voice persisted in his head. He found a small black notebook with the red spine that contained Monti’s brother’s number. He dialled the number and waited. He could not stop smiling.

‘Yes. Who is it?’

Dominique Monti was abrasive but he was straight. When his little brother had been killed he had turned up in Stuart’s office and told him that if ever he needed any help dropping a black flag on Coco Santini, he just had to call.

‘It’s Stuart.’

‘What is it?’

‘You said I could call you.’

‘Yes. What is it?’ His voice was identical to his brother’s.

‘Could you meet me at Santini’s villa in town?’ He looked at his watch. ‘In an hour. Nine-fifteen. Do you know Le Losange?’

‘I do.’

‘Monti, I need a drill. Two of them. For floor and wall drilling.’

‘No problem.’

Stuart put the phone gently into its cradle and let his heart settle. He sat down behind his desk and leaned back in his chair. He had never had an opportunity like this and it would never come again. He sat staring into the light of the anglepoise, telling himself to think. At last he picked up the phone and called Paul. As he gave his instructions, he heard his own voice floating in the room. It struck him as remarkably calm and he listened to the words flowing out of him and his tone, more solemn than he felt because he wanted to laugh, and when Paul said, ‘Okay, I’ll see you in an hour,’ Stuart heard the reverence in his voice.

He called back Lasserre.

‘I need to search Coco’s house.’

‘Why?’

‘Raymond’s murder. It could turn something up.’

‘What’s happened? What have you got, Stuart?’

He paused.

‘Monti’s brother, Dominique,’ he said. ‘He overheard something two nights ago at Enrico’s. I’ve just spoken to him.’

‘You’re putting Raymond back in the file.’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you looking for?’

‘It’s to put pressure on him.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m taking Dominique Monti with me.’

‘What for?’

‘For his drill.’

‘Stuart. What are you looking for?’ He didn’t answer. ‘I said what are you looking for?’

‘Nothing. I haven’t got anything. I need to scare him. You can understand that.’

He heard Lasserre sigh.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you. I should go before he has time to shit and shave.’

‘I’ll fax you the order now.’

‘Thank you,’ he said again.

‘Call me,’ she said. ‘I’ll be at the tribunal from nine.’

Stuart turned off the anglepoise and left his office. He found Cesari with his head on the desk, fast asleep. He reached over the boy and turned on the tape recorder. At the sound of the reel rewinding the boy sat bolt upright. Stuart held up his palm.

‘Where is it? The call to Santini.’

Cesari looked in the exercise book on the desk in front of him. He pointed to the time code.

‘Here.’

Evelyne’s voice was pristine for 2 a.m. Coco had clearly been asleep. Stuart listened to the short conversation three times but could not recognise the caller.

‘Let’s see where the relay is.’

Cesari carefully unfolded the map.

‘Here,’ he said, pointing to the circle he had drawn in red crayon.

‘Good. Thank you.’ Stuart noted down the reference. ‘Make a copy and give it to Paul as soon as he comes in. We’re searching his villa this morning.’

‘What do I tell Commissaire Mesguish?’

‘Tell him I’m searching Le Losange. We have no secrets.’ He winked and the boy relaxed. ‘Tell him to call me in my car.’

He picked up Lasserre’s fax and ran out to his car to call Alice.

‘Go to Santini’s villa now,’ he said. ‘Tell him you couldn’t wait. Keep him talking; let him console you.’

‘He doesn’t console.’

‘Just try and keep him there. I’ll be there in less than an hour.’

‘What’s happening?’

‘We’re going to search his villa.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’

‘Is Sam there?’

‘No, no. But he knows where he is and we’re going to get him to tell us. Alice?’

‘Yes.’

It was the first time he had said her name.

‘I’ll tell you about it when I get there.’

As he replaced the receiver and raised his hand to the ignition, last night’s dream rose to the surface. They were in the canteen at school; he recognised the white-tiled walls and he could hear the cries of the children as they ran down the stairs on their way into the refectory. She was clutching him, but he could not see her hands on his back nor could he see her face; he could only feel her breath on his neck and her hips pressing against his as she moved with him, and in his dream he closed his eyes and knew this was all the shelter he would ever find. As the children’s cries came closer he suddenly needed to see her face and he tried to shift so that he could see more than his own back working like an animal, but as he did so he felt her slip away and he was alone, naked, his forlorn penis waving at the blank wall and the children rushing in.

He held the ignition key and closed his eyes. Then he sighed, turned on the engine and drove out of the compound, past the parasol pines where Santini’s men had once stood watch. It seemed a long time ago. He considered how little his life had changed in the interim. It did not matter. It may be a good thing, he thought. Perhaps a man could make his life mean something in the actions of a single day.

A lime-green street cleaner was crawling along in the
middle
of the road ahead of him, spraying the pavements. He wound down the window to let in the smell of damp street dust. He watched the young man in overalls that matched the machine, hanging off the side of the dustcart, spraying the streets with a vague wave of the arm. He had a Walkman on and he was singing with his eyes closed. Stuart smiled. ‘Thank you, Liliane,’ he said aloud. His mother had always said she was a good woman.

Stuart coasted past the entrance to Santini’s villa, past Dominique Monti’s van parked on the opposite pavement. He followed the road, which curved sharply towards the sea. Beyond the turn was a lay-by with three municipal dustbins, spilling waste. He parked in the shade of a scrub oak and turned off the engine. Alice was already inside Coco’s house.

He reached over to unlock the glove compartment, the door of which came off in his hands. He looked at his gun lying on top of the radio, picked it up and turned it over on his palm; then he put it back, replaced the door and locked it again. He climbed out and walked back along the road towards Dominique Monti’s van.

Along the side of the white van were printed the words ‘Ets. Dominique Monti, BTP, SARL’ in neat black letters like a surgeon’s credentials. Stuart could see a dusty foot in a beach thong holding open the door. He caught Dominique’s face in the wing mirror a second before he looked up from whatever he was reading. When he saw him, Dominique slid open the door with his foot and climbed out. He nodded and gripped Stuart’s hand hard. He was wearing a pair of faded blue satin football shorts and a yellow vest with the number nine on the back. His chest was as broad as a cement-mixer – he could carry two standard sacks of cement on each arm – and his legs were grey to the knees with cement dust. He had the same boxer’s nose as his dead brother. Stuart recalled his informer’s face, full of excitement, while he told him of his plan to have plastic surgery in Belgium.

Dominique was looking up at him. His face, too, wore the colours of pastis, all yellow and indigo.

‘Can we sit in the van a moment?’ Stuart asked.

Dominique held out his arm. When they were inside Stuart said, ‘We’re going to search his place.’

Dominique raised his eyebrows.

‘Whatever you say.’ He leaned forward, peering through the windscreen at the sky as if for rain, and then nodded in the direction of the villa. ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said.

‘I’m waiting for back-up,’ Stuart told him.

‘You look in better shape than you did last year,’ Dominique said. Stuart looked at him. ‘You do,’ Dominique insisted. He leaned forward and looked up at the sky again. ‘I’m waiting for the Devil Divers. You know, the fighter pilots.’ He craned his neck. ‘They’re supposed to be flying over the bay this morning. Amazing.’

Stuart nodded. The other Monti had been better company.

‘I’m going back to wait for them,’ he said, ‘Join us at the entrance. Have you got everything?’

‘Course I have.’

Stuart climbed out and walked back to the lay-by. A white haze covered the sun and he could smell a storm. He turned and looked at the hills. Behind them the sky was filling up with churning cloud like volcano smoke. Up ahead, over the sea the sky was still blue, but he could feel the storm in his joints and smell it in the tarmac. He looked down at the hand she had held in the car, turning it over, and he smiled to see how it shook.

The squad car he had asked for was parked beside his. The fat boy from La Rochelle was sitting behind the wheel. Beside him was a young woman and in the back was a youth, neither of whom he knew. The fat boy beamed at Stuart and got out.

They shook hands over the bonnet.

‘This is Mireille, Commissaire.’

Stuart shook the woman’s hand but could not compete with the enthusiasm of her smile. Central Office had published a pamphlet at the beginning of the year that announced a new public relations offensive for the police. Paul had said it
was a euphemism for an end to ugly women on traffic duty. Mireille, he would say, was new policy. Alice was right; Paul did not like women.

The youth now climbed out of the back of the car. He was small and wiry with a juvenile face and bad acne. He introduced himself with three syllables that Stuart did not catch.

Stuart turned to the boy from La Rochelle.

‘Your name, I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘It’s tricky sir,’ he answered. ‘It’s Joachim.’

Stuart told them it was a routine search in a homicide case and they were to cover the front gate.

The villa, as Coco liked to call it, had been built by Jug Nordstrom, the Swedish architect who had designed first Russo’s place, then Coco’s, then Rimini’s, the Milanese real-estate man. The last of Nordstrom’s creations had been blown up a year after completion. Apparently, Rimini had gone to see Coco with tears in his eyes.

‘Why? I don’t understand. You said it would be okay.’

Coco said he’d make enquiries and get back to him. A week later Coco met him at The Pescador and told him, ‘There’s been a mistake. You can rebuild.’

Some kids from the FNL had taken the initiative without checking first. They had had to use 300 kilos of explosives to get rid of it.

Coco’s villa was made up of four tent-like structures in wood and glass, linked to each other by narrow footbridges of steel and wire mesh. The tents were arranged in a diamond around a central courtyard, and so Evelyne had named the house ‘Le Losange’. People said Evelyne sometimes went naked along the footbridges.

Paul arrived in his own car with Gérard. Behind them came Fabrice in his van. Stuart took them aside and briefed them while the three cops waited in the squad car. He noted the same calm in his voice and felt the same detachment he had experienced earlier. Before he had finished Fabrice began to unpack his equipment. Stuart could feel his disapproval.

He held out his hand for one of the camera cases.

‘Does the magistrate know?’ Fabrice asked, pushing his red glasses further up his nose.

‘Christine Lasserre’s right behind me.’

Fabrice handed him a camera case.

‘She’s right behind the man with the drill, is she?’

‘She knows.’

Fabrice nodded and carried on unloading.

As all seven of them walked towards the gates to the villa, Stuart wondered why he had chosen to leave his gun behind.

Coco liked having the Aron woman sitting beside him at the table while Evelyne waited on them. He liked watching the expressive arch of Evelyne’s back as she stalked out of the room. Twice she had attempted to stay and each time he had sent her to fetch something unnecessary: some sugar for his coffee and then his telephone. Either the Aron woman did not notice Evelyne’s fury or she was an impeccable actress.

Evelyne called this place the sun room. To Coco it looked like an air-traffic control tower. The young woman was sitting on the high-backed cane armchair Evelyne had brought back from a furniture fair in Milan. Behind her was a
bullet-proof
plate-glass window with a view over the bay that had always disappointed him. The greenish glass made the pool in the foreground murky.

‘What happened to your forehead?’

‘I banged it.’

‘I can see that. You look tired,’ he said, looking at her mouth. She had a beauty spot on her lower lip. When she blew on her coffee it disappeared. ‘Are you eating?’ he asked her. ‘I’ll ask Evelyne to get us some croissants.’

‘I’m not hungry. Thank you.’

‘You should eat.’

She put down her coffee cup and looked at him. There was a candour in her stare that he appreciated. It was a rare thing, especially in a woman. He leaned back in his chair and let her look.

‘Why did you lend me the money?’ she asked. The large red sports bag full of cash lay at her feet, under the table.

‘You asked me to.’

‘The last time we met you suggested that it would be easy
for you to find out who had him. And you did, very quickly.’ She hesitated, looking for the right words. Unlike Evelyne, she didn’t chatter.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Can you find out who has him now?’

Coco stroked his beard and studied her. She had a few lines on the bridge of her nose. Her skin was otherwise smooth, but it would wrinkle early. If he got her son back she would fall into his arms.

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Yes, I can.’

‘How come?’

‘That’s my secret,’ he said, smiling.

She was not as vulnerable as she looked. There was something tough about her that he liked. She was wearing a blue dress with small white buttons all the way down the front. It was open at the neck and he could see a dark freckle on her milky skin beneath her left collarbone and another one lower down. He imagined undressing her and smiled again: he could play join the dots.

At the sound of the doorbell she turned and looked towards the door.

‘Are you expecting somebody?’ he asked.

She smiled, a polite rictus. ‘I’ll have some more coffee, if there is any.’

‘I’ll get it for you.’

As he walked round her chair to the door he glanced down at the shadow beneath her breastbone but could divine nothing.

Standing in the doorway blocking their path stood Evelyne, a Dobermann disguised as a poodle. She was dressed in a white-and-gold cowgirl outfit fringed with tassels. Gérard swore at the sight of her, out of admiration or disgust, Stuart did not know which. He was relieved when Santini appeared. At the sound of his voice Evelyne pulled back, making the satin fringes quiver. She let Coco take her place but she never took her dead eyes off Stuart.

‘What do you want?’ Santini asked. He was carrying a coffee cup. He glanced at Dominique Monti, who was standing beside Stuart with his drill. ‘What’s going on? Are you all bored?’

‘We’d like to search your house, Santini,’ Stuart said.

‘You’ve already searched it. Come back another time. I’m in a meeting.’

‘We’d like to search it now.’

‘In connection with what?’

‘In connection with the death of Raymond Battesti.’

‘Oh come on, Stuart. He was a junkie and he died of junk.’

‘Just let me in, Coco.’

‘Where’s your warrant?’ Evelyne asked.

‘You watch too much American TV,’ Stuart told her. ‘Tell her, Coco. You’re a better jurist than I am.’

‘Who’s the magistrate?’ Coco asked.

‘Christine Lasserre,’ Stuart said.

Coco stood for a moment facing them, then he turned his back on the open door and walked away across the hall towards a broad arch in the far wall.

‘You deal with it, Evelyne,’ he said. ‘If they damage anything, we’ll sue them.’

Stuart stepped into the hall. The walls and the floor were covered with a blinding white marble. It was the same marble Santini had chosen for the mausoleum he had built for himself on the promontory overlooking the bay. The hall was cool and smelled of Evelyne’s perfume.

‘I suggest you stay, Santini,’ he said. ‘We’re going to use the drill.’

Coco turned round. The others had followed Stuart into the hall and were standing behind him. Coco glanced again at Dominique with his drill. Stuart could see his anger in the tension in his mouth.

‘You can do what you like,’ Coco said at last. ‘But you’ll have to pay for it and you always end up paying for your mistakes, don’t you, Stuart?’

He turned and passed through the arch and up a flight of steps. Stuart was not going to run after him. When Coco had gone he wrote down the time of his refusal to attend the search, then turned to Evelyne.

‘I’d like the plans of the house, please.’ Evelyne folded her arms and stared at him with her dead eyes.

‘Give us the plans, Evelyne,’ Gérard said. ‘Or we’ll drill through every wall in the house.’

She did not move.

‘You should go and get Coco,’ Stuart said. ‘He has to be present at the search.’

Evelyn blinked slowly at him. There were mean brackets around her mouth that he had not noticed before.

‘If you don’t get him, we will,’ Stuart told her. ‘Check the whole house,’ he said to Gérard and Paul. ‘We’re going out side to have a look around. Dominique?’

Dominique Monti nodded.

‘And Fabrice.’

The three of them climbed the steps that led through a pampas thicket to the front drive where Dominique had left his compressor. Stuart glanced at Alice’s Mercedes, then led them along a narrow path that passed through a bed of spider cactus to an unnaturally green lawn. The house was to their left. Ahead and out of sight was the pool set in a paved terrace overlooking the sea. Stuart walked across the damp grass towards the house. There were no sprinklers. Dominique walked beside him, tugging on the giant flex that attached the drill to the compressor and swearing at the opulence. Fabrice followed behind, looking about him with feigned boredom, taking in every detail.

Stuart knew he would find the cache quicker in Coco’s presence. He stopped beneath one of the bridges made of wood and steel cable. Two glass pyramids overhung the high cement-rendered walls. The entrance hall was below the ground and lit by glass tiles that paved the internal courtyard. There was no visual access to the house except from the
air. Stuart and Fabrice walked round to the back. Dominique followed with his drill. Stuart stood with his back to the blind façade, facing the sea. Coco would have taken her to a room with a view.

‘Dominique.’

Dominique stopped beside Stuart on the path.

‘Can you drill over there?’ Stuart asked, nodding at the terrace ahead of them.

‘I can drill where you like,’ he said.

They crossed the strip of lawn to where the terrace began. The rubber flex dragging behind Dominique left brown welts in the tender grass. The terrace was made of the same white marble as the hall. Stuart watched Dominique set up his machine. He thought of Alice being breathed on by Santini.

‘Where?’ Dominique asked. He was standing, legs apart, gripping the machine.

Stuart pointed randomly at a slab of marble at his feet. He was conscious of Fabrice watching him in disbelief.

‘Block your ears, Fabrice.’

Monti’s brother began drilling. The machine was so loud and so powerful, holding it transformed him into a maniac. The drill sank into the marble as if it were icing, and churned up the earth and sand beneath. White dust spiralled into the sky. Dominique cut out a jagged square metre and stopped. When he looked up, his black hair and eyebrows were coated white.

Fabrice stepped forward.

‘Just wait,’ Stuart said, holding up his hand. He had never questioned Fabrice’s special status. Conferred by his quasi-scientific role, it was confirmed by his quiet authority and his integrity. Fabrice stayed clean and Stuart had never held this against him: somebody had to. But today there was no place for him. He would just have to write his report when it was all over.

Stuart was still holding his hand in the air like some crazed prophet. Fabrice and Dominique were watching him
in silence. There was the sound of a door sliding on rails and then a shout. Gérard and Paul were weaving across the lawn towards them, carrying Coco. Each one had hold of an arm and a leg. Coco did not appear to be struggling, but Evelyn ran along beside them, lashing out at each of them in turn, forcing them to defend themselves as best they could without their arms. Above and behind them five jets dived in formation towards the sea. As the sound ripped through the sky Stuart saw Dominique Monti mouthing his awe-struck obscenities.

‘I was not present when you did that,’ Coco said, nodding at the mess in the immaculate terrace.

‘Yes you were,’ Stuart said. ‘You can put him down.’

‘He did the Gandhi routine,’ Gérard said, setting Coco down on the terrace. ‘He sat down on the floor.’

Paul looked down at Coco: ‘It’s an insult to true revolutionaries the world over.’

Coco stood up. He brushed the marble dust from the back of his trousers. The sky was dark with cloud.

‘Anyone else in the house?’ Stuart asked.

‘Madame Aron. In the room overlooking the pool.’ Paul turned and pointed to the glass pyramid. ‘There.’

Stuart looked but could not see her.

‘You’re out of control, Stuart,’ Coco said. ‘These people know it and you’re scaring them.’

‘I’m scaring you, Santini,’ Stuart said. ‘What’s Madame Aron doing here?’

‘You brought a pneumatic drill to look for Madame Aron?’

‘No. I brought the pneumatic drill to look for an arms cache.’

Coco’s amusement vanished and returned in an instant. Stuart looked at Evelyn, who fixed her eyes on him. Too late. He had seen them flick towards the pool. He turned and looked at the pool. It was what they called an ‘eternity pool’, with an overflow system. He could see that it was not quite full. Coco had built the cache underneath, then filled it up.
There would be an access from the outside. Stuart looked hard at Coco and Coco stared back, his watery green eyes entirely free of expression. Emotion showed in his mouth, which was why he wore a beard, Stuart thought.

‘Come with me, Coco. I have an idea.’

Evelyne stepped forward.

‘Wait here,’ Coco told her.

The two men walked side by side towards the house.

‘We’re going to find Madame Aron,’ Stuart said. ‘She’s your only hope.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You’ll see.’

They stepped through the front door into the hall. Stuart could see the sweat beginning to soak through Santini’s silk shirt.

‘You’ve got an arms cache under your pool, Coco,’ Stuart said.

‘You’ve always had shit informers.’

‘You’ve got a cache under the pool. There’s nothing between you and twenty years inside but a pneumatic drill.’

Stuart looked at Coco. His eyes still carried no expression, but there were tiny pearls of sweat all around them. Stuart knew from this silence that he was right about the pool. His heart sang.

‘Which way is Madame Aron?’ Stuart asked. ‘Let’s go and see her. Maybe she can help you find a way out.’ Stuart walked towards the arch. ‘Up here?’

Coco overtook him and led the way up a flight of marble stairs to a landing. Straight ahead was a narrow arch through which Stuart could see part of the enclosed courtyard: steel, glass and foliage. There was a sound of water trickling.

‘A fountain,’ Stuart said. ‘Nice.’

Coco turned left and opened a door in another arch. Stuart followed him up more stairs that were covered in a thick, green carpet that matched Coco’s shirt. At the top they stepped into a sparsely furnished room with white walls and a
white ceramic floor. They were in one of the glass pyramids overlooking the sea. Alice was standing on the other side of the room before a plate-glass window. She walked round a smoked-glass table with two empty coffee cups on it. Beneath, Stuart could see a red holdall. Inside was Santini’s money. Alice shook his hand and he noted how cold hers was; then she turned to Santini.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Ask him,’ Coco told her, walking away from them both. He stood with his back to them, looking through the greenish glass at the pool, his hands in his trouser pockets.

Stuart looked for something in her face for him, but she carried on.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked again.

‘Mr Santini is in trouble. Who does the gear belong to, Coco?’

Coco did not move. The back of his shirt was drenched with sweat. Stuart could see that he and Alice were reflected in the plate glass, that Coco was watching them. Stuart spoke to Coco’s back. ‘Is it for the new group. For the FAR?’

Coco turned round.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Just the FNL, then?’

‘What do you want, Stuart? Either drill the fucking hole or get to the point.’

‘I want you to tell this woman who has her child,’ he said.

‘I’ve got no idea who has her child.’

‘You said you did,’ Alice said quietly. ‘You said you could easily find out.’

‘I said I could find out.’

‘Well, find out, Santini,’ Stuart said. ‘Very quickly or I’ll drill.’

‘Come on, Stuart. You know I wouldn’t go anywhere near something like this.’

‘You’ve got five minutes to decide.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’m not leaving them out there. It’s going to rain.’ He felt
weightless but not, for once, with anger. He could feel how close he was to Coco, how carefully he had to tread. ‘Five minutes,’ Stuart said, ‘and I give them the signal to start drilling.’

Coco grew more unsettled as the silence gathered. He began rubbing the back of his neck with a repeated movement. All the time he kept his eyes on Alice. Suddenly he dropped his arm and walked over to Stuart. He stood so close, Stuart could feel his breath on his face.