Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) (23 page)

Chapter 28

2021

CRAWFORD ALLOWED HIS BMW TO GLIDE
gracefully to a halt outside the museum at Grand-Pressigny. As he stepped out from his car, a small man in the uniform of a security guard stepped out from the main entrance and bustled toward him. Crawford gave the man a friendly wave. “Hello,” he called. “Am I too late to go into the museum?”

The guard waved his question aside. “The museum is closed, monsieur. You may come back tomorrow. We will be open in the morning.”

“Oh dear,” Crawford said. “And I’ve had a long drive as well.” He gave the security guard a relaxed smile. “Tell me, do you know if there’s a bar nearby? I could really use an ice cold drink right now.”

The guard shrugged dismissively. “In the town, there are a few bars and restaurants. Very popular with our visitors.”

Crawford grimaced. “No, I’m not looking for one of those tourist places. I just want somewhere quiet, somewhere where I can get a good pastis. Do you know somewhere like that?”

“Of course,” the guard said. “There is a place I know, but it’s not so easy to find.”

“Then perhaps, if you’ve finished for the day, I could give you a lift into town. Really, it would be no trouble to me, and you’d be doing me a favour, so naturally I’d buy you a drink.”

The guard licked his lips and gave Crawford a sly look. “Thank you, but I was just about to head in that direction myself. You can follow me in your car if you wish. But I don’t know…” He glanced at Crawford’s BMW, taking in its sleek lines and highly polished bodywork. “The place I go—I think it will not be to your taste. It is not…sophisticated.”

“It sounds perfect,” Crawford said. “If you’re sure I can’t offer you a lift, I’ll wait here while you get your car.”

The guard frowned and opened his mouth as if he was about to object, but Crawford didn’t give him the chance. “And remember, the first drink is my treat. I insist.”

“Ah, why not?” The guard said. “I will be just one minute.”

Crawford watched the guard as the little man hurried across the car park and climbed into the cab of a dusty silver pickup. Crawford allowed himself a small smile.
That was far too easy
, he thought.
Hardly a challenge at all
.

***

In the town, Crawford watched the guard park his pickup truck outside an establishment called Le Bar Dix, but he kept driving. He selected a nearby side street and turned into it before parking his BMW, tucking his car out of sight behind a white van. He scanned the street briefly but thoroughly. This was a good location: residential and quiet with no one passing by.
A dead end
, Crawford thought then he stepped from his car and locked the doors.

It took him only a few minutes to walk the short distance back to Le Bar Dix. He pushed open the bar’s battered door and looked around the room. The bar was small and dimly lit. A few locals, all male, were leaning over the chipped tables, deep in murmured conversations, or lolling on their chairs, watching him with practised disinterest. The guard stood at the bar, his face turned toward Crawford in expectation. As Crawford approached, the barman leaned on the bar and regarded him with a frown. He tilted his chin upward and said, “Monsieur?”

“Bonjour,” Crawford said, “deux Ricard, s’il vous plait.”

The barman acknowledged him with a sniff then turned away and prepared their drinks. He put the glasses of golden spirit on the bar and watched Crawford carefully. “Ice?”

“Dear me, no,” Crawford said. “Just some water if you please. That’s the only way to drink it.”

The guard nodded appreciatively. “C’est vrai.” He smiled at Crawford as the barman produced a jug of cold water and Crawford paid.

Crawford added a little water to his pastis. “Salut,” he said and took a long draught of the cloudy drink.

The guard added a dribble of water to his own glass then raised it. “A votre sante.” He winked then gulped at his drink, swallowing half of it in one mouthful.

“A perfect pastis,” Crawford said. “You must let me get you another.”

The guard pushed out his bottom lip and tilted his head from side to side as though seriously considering the offer. “Perhaps just one more, monsieur. It’s been a long day.”

The barman had been loitering nearby, and now he stepped forward, his frown replaced by an eager grin.

“Two more,” Crawford said, laying out a few 10 euro notes on the bar top. “And have one for yourself.”

“Merci,” the barman said, and fetched their drinks promptly and efficiently. He took Crawford’s money, and showed no indication that there would be any change.

Crawford picked up the jug of water. “Let me fix your drink for you, my friend. I think I see how you like it now.” He fussed over the drinks, placing the glasses side by side and making a great show of measuring out the water correctly. His hands moved over the drinks quickly, and although the guard was watching him closely, Crawford was sure that no one would notice anything suspicious as the tiny pill fell from his palm and into the guard’s drink.

“Thank you very much, monsieur,” the guard said, accepting his glass with a broad smile.

“Please, you must call me William. We are friends now, after all.”

The guard took a sip of his drink. “All right, William. That’s a good French name. And my name is Jules. Salut.”

Crawford watched him drink. “That must be very interesting, working at the museum.”

Jules stood a little taller. “It’s important work.”

The barman snorted. “It’s not so difficult, I think. They pay you to sleep, my friend. Some of us have real jobs to do.”

Jules bridled. “Someone has to protect the history and culture of France. We have many treasures to show the world. You should try a visit sometime.” He looked at Crawford. “Excuse this man. He knows nothing of the world. He has not stepped out from behind this bar in thirty years.”

“Don’t worry,” Crawford said, “I understand. The museum must have many valuable pieces.”

“A load of old rocks,” the barman said.

Jules dismissed the barman’s remark with a scowl. “Some of them are priceless,” he said to Crawford. “Today, we had a film crew from England. They came all the way here, especially to see us. And only just in time.”

“Fascinating,” Crawford said. “But why do you say only just in time?”

Jules nodded wisely. “Tomorrow, the new pieces will be shipped to Paris for expert investigation. We have had an express directive from the government. These pieces are of international significance.”

Crawford raised his eyebrows as though impressed. “Such a shame I’ll miss them.”

Jules shrugged. “It’s too bad. They are locked away in our strongroom, and in the morning they will be gone.”

“Never mind,” Crawford said. “Perhaps another time.”

Jules smiled and finished his drink. Crawford watched him carefully. The man’s eyes were glazing over, and his lips were beginning to droop. “Another drink before we part?”

Jules shook his head slowly. “I must drive. And I’m feeling a little tired. It’s been a long day. It’s time for me to go home.”

“In that case, I’ll walk out with you,” Crawford said. “I may need some directions out of town.”

“Very well.” Jules nodded to the barman then headed for the door. Crawford followed close behind.

Outside, the fresh air revived Crawford, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Jules. He staggered as he set off toward his car, only saving himself by placing his hand against the wall.

“Let me help you,” Crawford said.

Jules did not complain as Crawford hooked his arm around Jules’ shoulders and urged him toward the pickup. Jules fumbled with his keys for a moment, but Crawford gently took them from his fingers and opened the pickup’s passenger door. Jules gave him a lopsided smile. “Thank you, William, but I am fine now.”

“Think nothing of it,” Crawford said. He took a deep breath then bundled Jules into the pickup’s passenger seat.

Jules looked around the cab in confusion. “No, no, this is the wrong side. We are not in England now.” He let out a cackle of drunken laughter.

But Crawford gave no sign of having heard. He fastened the seatbelt across Jules’ body then slammed the door shut. He walked calmly around to the driver’s door then climbed in and made himself comfortable.

“What’s the matter?” Jules asked. “What’s the problem?”

Crawford started the engine. “No problem. I’m just going to give you a lift home. You’re in no state to drive. The police would surely stop you.”

Jules mumbled something incoherent in French.

Crawford frowned.
I hope I didn’t give him too much
, he thought. He put the pickup into gear and executed a u-turn in the road before heading back the way they’d come.

Jules stared out through the windscreen, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

“Jules, let’s have a little chat.”

“Quoi?” Jules mumbled.

“I expect the museum has an alarm. What’s the code to turn it off?”

Jules frowned. “Oh no. That is secret, monsieur. I can’t tell you that.”

Crawford raised his voice. “Jules, quickly! Its’ an emergency! We’ve got to turn off the alarm. How do we do it?”

Jules’ expression was a picture of confusion and panic. He looked from side to side and patted his pockets in turn. “The card. Where is my special card? I need my keys.”

“All right, Jules,” Crawford said. “Calm down. It’s all right. I’ve got your keys here. I’ll turn the alarm off with the special card, yes?”

Jules heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, monsieur. Good. It’s the blue card. Bleu.”

“Don’t worry, Jules. Just tell me about the strongroom at the museum. Where is it exactly?”

“Strongroom? It’s behind…behind room six. Where Audrey goes.” Jules grinned stupidly. “She’s very pretty. Tres joli. But she doesn’t look at me. No. Not me.” He sniffed loudly. “Why doesn’t she look at me?”

“Let’s just talk about the strongroom,” Crawford said. “What sort of lock does it have?”

Jules giggled then mimed pressing buttons in the air.

“It’s an electronic lock?” Crawford asked. “What’s the code? What numbers do I have to press to open it?”

“C’est facile. Mille neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix-huit.”

“1998? That’s the code?”

Jules nodded slowly. “The year we won the rugby.” He giggled then stared at Crawford. “I don’t feel so good,” he slurred.

“Is there anything else? Anything else I need to know? It’s very important for me to get into the strongroom.”

“Non.” Jules shook his head slowly and stared blankly into the middle distance. “C’est tout.”

Crawford checked the rear view mirror then guided the pickup to the side of the road and stopped. “You’ve done very well Jules. You deserve a treat.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a small glass bottle of colourless liquid. “Here, have a drink of this. It will pick you up.”

Jules eyed the bottle suspiciously. “No more for me. I’m not well.”

Crawford held the bottle to the guard’s lips. “Just a sip. Then I can get you home.”

But Jules shook his head and pushed Crawford’s arm away. “Non, monsieur!”

Crawford looked up and down the road. There was no one in sight. He leaned toward Jules, and in one smooth motion he grabbed the man’s nose with his right hand, pinching his nostrils together and tilting his head back as far as the seat would allow. When Jules opened his mouth to breathe, Crawford raised the bottle in his left hand and pushed it between Jules lips. He upended the bottle until it was empty then he dropped it and clamped his hand over the man’s chin to keep his mouth shut.

For a second, Jules gagged on the liquid, and he struggled, his eyes bulging, his arms beating against Crawford’s body. But there was no force in his blows, and though he thrashed his arms and legs, he seemed to have lost control of his limbs. Then it was over. His legs were still. His arms hung limp at his sides. And his head lolled forward until his chin rested on his chest.

“There we are,” Crawford said. “Now you just sit quietly and this won’t take long. It won’t take long at all.”

Chapter 29

1919

TREVOR SCOWLED AND PUSHED HIS WAY
through the last of the brambles. Brian was standing at the very end of the gorge, peering up at the rock face, and Trevor joined him. “This had better be worth my while, Brian,” he said. “Now, where’s this ledge supposed to be? I can’t see it.”