The Circle (56 page)

‘So what? God knows where he was going. Maybe to his other woman.'

‘No, it's not in that direction either. What's interesting is that no more transmitters were activated after that one, in spite of the calls his desperate girlfriend made.'

‘As though his telephone had been destroyed or switched off and abandoned somewhere,' suggested Espérandieu.

‘Exactly. And that's not everything. Make it bigger.' Espérandieu moved the cursor further down and the territory expanded further. Servaz ran his finger from the restaurant to the transmitter then extended its trajectory.

‘Bloody hell,' said Vincent as he watched his boss's finger move closer and closer to a place whose name they had read at least a hundred times in the last few hours: Lake Néouvielle.

Ziegler was outside the courts, sitting astride her Suzuki, when ‘Singin' in the Rain' chimed in her pocket. She unzipped her leather jacket and looked at the screen of her iPhone: Martin.

‘You did some diving when you were in Greece, didn't you?' he asked. ‘With or without air tanks?'

‘With,' she answered, her curiosity instantly aroused.

‘And are you good at it?'

She gave a short little laugh.

‘Ha ha! I'm a federal instructor, first degree, and a Two Star Instructor with the World Underwater Federation.'

She heard him let out a long whistle.

‘That sounds pretty cool. I suppose it means yes?'

‘Martin, why do you want to know?'

He told her.

‘And have you ever done any diving?'

‘With a mask and snorkel, yes, once or twice.'

‘I'm serious. What about with an air tank?'

‘Uh … yes, a few times, but it was a long time ago.'

This was a lie. He had only dived once in his life with a tank, at
Club Med … in a swimming pool … along with Alexandra and an instructor.

‘When was that?'

‘Hmm … fifteen years or so ago, I think. Maybe a bit longer.'

‘It's a very bad idea.'

‘It's the only one I have. And we can't afford to wait for permission from the prosecutor's office to have a team of divers at our disposal. The press will be all over the case in the next few hours. It's a very small lake, after all … and there are no sharks,' he joked, lamely.

‘It's a fucking bad idea.'

‘Do you have all the gear we'd need? Do you have a diving suit for me?'

‘Yeah, I should be able to find one.'

‘Great. How soon shall I come and pick you up?'

‘I have an appointment with the company commander. Give me two hours.'

She would deal with Zlatan Jovanovic later. She was dying to know what Martin had found.

Air tanks, diving, a lake …

With treasure at the bottom
, she thought.

The Dive

It was already late afternoon when they started along the dirt track. They bounced along the road as far as a chain stretched between two squat poles. A rusty sign swung from the middle:

NO BATHING

The lake and the dam appeared before them. Servaz looked at the far shore, 200 metres away; the road overlooked the lake in a sharp bend. It was there that the coach had left the road to careen down the slope. It was impossible to get to the lake from there: the shore below the road was a steep cliff to which only a few old trees still clung; their roots, laid bare by successive landslides, reached into the water; a raft of dead wood and debris floated on the surface between the branches. All around, the slope was not as sheer, but still too steep.

So there was only one way to get there: the track they were on.

Servaz opened his door, and immediately the heat of the day cloaked his shoulders like a piece of clothing forgotten in the sun. Irène had already walked around the Cherokee to open the boot. She was hurriedly removing her clothes and Servaz could see that she was very suntanned. She pulled her black rubber suit over her pink thong and bra and he set about changing too.

‘We'd better hurry,' she said, looking at the clouds.

Thunder was rumbling and swirling in the distance. From time to time, there came the flash of a lightning bolt. But still no rain. She took the second set of gear from the boot and helped him pull on the diving suit. He tried to recall the explanations she had given several times over in the car, and he was beginning to regret his plan.

‘It looks as if the storm is about to break,' she said. ‘I'm not sure this is a good idea.'

‘I don't have any others,' he said.

‘We could wait until tomorrow. A team of divers can comb the lake. If there's anything to find, they'll find it.'

‘Tomorrow
La République de Marsac
is going to publish an article stating that the police are trying to establish a link between the accident and Claire Diemar's murder, and all the media will get hold of the story. If there is something down there, I don't want the press to see it.'

‘Why don't you tell me what we're looking for?'

‘A grey Mercedes. And maybe someone inside.'

‘Is that all?!'

For a split second he almost backed down. But a remnant of pride prevented him from giving up. Irène saw it in his eyes, and shook her head. But she didn't say anything. She repeated her explanations about breathing, placed the tank on his back and arranged it. Then she adjusted the straps and set the hoses of the mask and the breathing tube on his shoulders and torso.

‘This is the stab,' she said, pointing to the stabilising jacket. ‘You inflate and deflate it with these valves, here, like I showed you. Always inflate it on the surface. It will allow you to stay above water. The stab is attached to the tank by this strap. The tank is connected to the regulator. You insert it in your mouth like this. Bite down lightly on the rubber if you're afraid you'll lose it.'

He tried to breathe. He thought he could sense resistance in the hose, but it was probably due to stress. Irène checked his belt and his flippers; she fastened the dive computer – a fat watch – around his wrist.

‘This is the depth, and this is the temperature. And here you have the time elapsed. In any case, I won't take my eyes off you and we stay a maximum of forty-five minutes in the water, got it?'

He nodded. Tried to move. Took two steps forward, raising his knees to avoid stumbling on the flippers, then stopped. He felt clumsy, unbalanced. The weight of the air tank made him feel as if he was going to fall on his back at any moment.

Ziegler closed the boot and the noise caused a cluster of birds to scatter on the other side of the lake. A warm wind stirred the leaves, and the thunder still hovered, but otherwise silence reigned.

‘Okay, let's go back over this. With the fading daylight, it's going to get dark down there very quickly: always put your torch in front
of your hand so that I understand what you want to say. If everything is fine, you make the sign “okay”.' She joined her thumb and forefinger to shape a circle. ‘Given the fact that you're a beginner, you're going to use up your reserve much faster than me, so don't forget to check it regularly. You have enough air for a good hour. Finally, if you have a problem, or if we get separated, wave your torch in all directions and don't move. I will come and find you. Is that clear?'

It was clear that he had less and less inclination to go through with it. But he nodded his head, his teeth clamped a bit too tightly on the nozzle of the regulator, his jaws clenched.

‘One more thing: breathe in, but don't forget to breathe out at regular intervals. Underwater, lungs that are filled with air for too long will want to make you rise to the surface. If that happens, remember to exhale slowly. Since the air gradually expands in your lungs as you go back up, it could be dangerous.'

Great.

‘This is completely idiotic,' she added. ‘Are you sure you want to go through with it?'

Once again he nodded.

She shrugged, turned round and stepped slowly into the water, backwards, her face turned to the shore. He imitated her and immediately felt the chill of the water through his suit. It wasn't unpleasant, because he had been so hot, but he wasn't sure it would be as pleasant after he'd been down there for an hour.
A mountain lake
, he thought. It was a long way from the Seychelles.

When the water was up to their chests, Irène spat into her mask, spread her saliva over the Plexiglas surface, and rinsed it just before adjusting it on her nose. Servaz copied her. Then he immersed his mask in the water and inspected the floor of the lake. The silt they had disturbed was filling the water with thousands of particles, preventing him from seeing anything. He hoped they would see more clearly at the bottom.

‘One last thing: when I let go of your hand, stay level with me. Don't go any more than three metres away. I want to be able to keep an eye on you. And don't forget to equalise the pressure in your eardrums by pinching your nose and breathing out. It will calm the buzzing in your ears. This lake is deep and you'll feel the effects of the pressure after only two or three metres.'

He made the ‘okay' sign and she gave a faint smile. She seemed even more stressed out than he was.

‘Put your regulator in your mouth,' she ordered.

She took his hand and they lay back against the water, kicking their flippers. When they were well away from the shore, she motioned to him to deflate his jacket and they started to descend in a cloud of bubbles.

It took him a few seconds to get used to the regulator, and he noticed he had to make a real effort to breathe underwater. Memories of his experience in the swimming pool came back, although it had been almost twenty years earlier, and he remembered that even then he hadn't really liked it very much.

They were already in what seemed like endless darkness in spite of the double beam from their torches. Irène squeezed his hand and guided him. They went down. The air whistled when he breathed in and bubbles sparkled all around him when he breathed out. Then silt danced in the beam of their torches and they could see the bottom of the lake – irregular, sloping and covered with a great prairie of algae, which undulated like a head of hair in the current, five metres below. At the same time, he could feel the pain growing ever more acute in his eardrums; a buzzing that was louder and louder. He made a face, and let go of Ziegler to put his hand on his ear. Irène immediately grabbed him by the jacket and obliged him to go back up. She looked at him through her mask and imitated the gesture of equalising. He did as she told him, pinched his nose and breathed out. He felt something like a big air bubble leave his ear. The pain vanished. There was only a slight buzzing. Bearable, he concluded. Again he made the ‘okay' sign and they started down once more, stopping twice to equalise the pressure.

At the bottom, thick fronds of algae brushed against their bellies. They swam in the probable direction of the sheer drop from the edge of the road. Irène was still clutching his hand, yet he felt all alone in the world. Alone with his thoughts.

Light.

He felt as if he were weightless.

Silence.

He could hear nothing around him except the gurgling sound. And the echo of his breathing, which was getting easier.

He glanced at his dive computer.

Fifteen metres.

After a while, Ziegler let go of his hand and looked at him. He motioned to her that everything was okay, and she moved away from him, continuing to swim in the same direction. Servaz looked all around. There wasn't much to see. They were alone at the bottom of a lake where no one would think to look for them, and he felt extremely vulnerable and exposed. His stress was growing by the minute, now that she was no longer holding his hand.
Calm down, you're only a few metres from the surface, all you have to do is inflate your jacket to get back up there.

Except that Ziegler had told him about observing gradual stages. Even at this depth. And the importance of not panicking.
Shit.
He looked towards the surface and saw a vague light. Far away. More grey than blue. Maybe the storm had broken. The thought made him more anxious than ever.
Calm down. Breathe out.
He concentrated on what was in front of him and inspected the silty bottom with the beam of his torch. Turning his head, he saw Ziegler only three metres away, continuing to explore by sweeping her torch from side to side, light and easy, undulating like a mermaid. She was paying no attention to him. He could scream all he liked, she'd never hear him.
If you have a problem, or if we get separated, wave your torch in all directions and don't move. I will come and find you.

The lake bottom was more irregular now: there were rocks, and tree trunks, an entire landscape as irregular as it was on the surface, and looking more and more like an outdoor tip. Servaz lit up a big tree trunk with his torch, gained a little altitude to get past the obstacle then dived again towards the prairie of algae. Then the ground seemed to rise quite abruptly. He glanced at Ziegler. They were even further apart now and he felt his panic return. He was alone with himself, thousands of cubic metres of hostile water pressing against the thin Plexiglas of his mask.

A school of little fish swam past his nose, catching silvery glints of light.

There was something a bit further along, in the middle of the algae and the silt.
Probably some household appliance that had been tipped in from the shore: the slope indicated they were getting closer. He kicked his flippers to propel himself closer to the object. Now he could see the pale reflection of glass among the algae. He forced himself to breathe out slowly, in spite of his impatience and curiosity. Two more
kicks of the flippers and he saw it. Joachim Campos's grey Mercedes. Almost intact in spite of the corrosion gnawing away at it. Half of the number plate had vanished, but there was still an X, a Y, a double zero, and the number for the region, 65, clearly identifiable.