The Sketcher's Mark (Lara McBride Thrillers Book 1) (22 page)

She pushed the door open and stepped in to a vast, cavernous room that ran under the stage and out under the audience.  The ceiling was low but the room was broad and long, filled with wooden mock ups of staircases, windows, painted backdrops showing views of gardens and various other colorful scenes, furniture that looked like it had been preserved for centuries.  It was like stepping back in time to a room where someone had taken pieces of the past and thrown them down there, a crazed place that made no sense.  Dusty sheets covered most of the pieces of set design that sat in rows going up and down the seemingly never ending room, creating odd shapes that made it hard for her to focus.

She heard a noise to her right, somewhere out towards where the audience was seated above.  She moved forward, cautious, knowing he had the upper hand in here. She moved to the wall, better to have something at the back of her, kept glancing back to the green door she had come through while searching the rows, zeroing in on where she thought the sound had come from.

Above her, the singers were reaching a crescendo.  A noise from the other side of the room made her move instinctively to chase it, but she knew a half second later that she had made a mistake and fallen for what turned out to be bait.  She felt her feet kicked out from under her, saw a blur of movement to her right as she fell on her back, then all she could see was the ceiling as her back slammed on the cold stone floor and the breath was driven out of her lungs.  She rolled sideways, her training kicking in, taught never to stop moving once you’re down.  He had come at her from beneath one of the grey sheets covering a set piece behind her.  He had a rag in his hand.  Chloroform maybe or possibly some kind of poison.  She gripped the pistol and tried to aim. He slapped it from her hand as she sat up and she slammed her elbow in to his face, that horrible scarred face that looked like it had been dipped in pure evil and left to harden like melted wax.

The blow didn’t stop him, he simply kept coming at her with the rag.  She blocked his arm, hearing the singers above her on the stage finish the song and the audience thunder in to rapturous applause.  It was deafening, even down here.  She hit him in the ear, sending him off balance, giving herself a chance to scramble for the pistol that lay just a few feet away.

He threw himself on to her back, one arm around her neck and she screamed in anger and frustration. The audience applause was maddening, as though they were goading him on to finish her.  The noise rolled through the whole building, deafening as it reverberated off the walls, drowning out her cry. He was like an insect, writhing on her as though he was trying to get inside her, a parasite, slippery and impossible to throw off.  The door to the room burst open and the motorcycle cop rushed inside, standing in the doorway with his gun drawn and a flashlight in his other hand.  The man with the scars relaxed his grip for a second, distracted, and Lara took the chance to drive her elbow up and jam it into his jaw, sending him toppling backwards, lost in the gloom, but at least he was off her. She gulped air desperately and grabbed the pistol.

As soon as she felt the cold metal in her fingers, she spun around and fired twice in Guillotine’s direction.  The man with the scars was already diving back in to the shadows, disappearing behind a long row of stage mirrors that had been set down at different angles and stacked against each other, providing a splintered reflection of the room.  Her shots had hit the mirrors, shattering the glass, spraying fragments and shards all over the stone floor.  The man with the scars raced along the wall, heading for the access door on the other side.  Lara saw him pull the door open and, for a second, he was framed in the doorway.  She had him in her sights. She breathed and pulled the trigger.

That was when the motorcycle cop hit her from behind.  She heard the shot and then her world went dark.

Chapter Forty Five

Inspector Brouchard walked through the grand lobby of the George Cinq hotel, remembering when he had stayed here with his wife for their anniversary years ago.  They had a wonderful weekend, the place was as romantic as they could have ever wanted.  They never left the opulent room for a weekend that had cost him a month’s salary.  It had been worth every penny, though, and she had never looked more lovely, glowing with happiness.  She had talked about their weekend here as he held her hand in the stark white hospital room a few short months later.  She had reminisced about how wonderful the place was as he felt the life slip out of her and she began to ramble, lost in her memories and unable to articulate, the tumor stealing her away from him.  Death went about its business that night without pomp or circumstance or fair warning and Brouchard felt he was in its wake again tonight. He steeled himself for a second as he crossed the lobby to the man who identified himself as the head of hotel security and the first Officer on the scene.  He had to put memories of his wife away now, bury them deep-  a young American girl needed his help.  He had stayed down here to co-ordinate the response units while Lara and Jason had gone to Beth’s room.

“Is she alive?” Brouchard asked.

“They’re bringing her out to the ambulance right now,” the Police Officer reported.

“Show me,” Brouchard ordered. 

The Police Officer led the way, the head of security, a man in his forties, ex military, a serious looking man whose name badge read Philippe, prattled as they walked.  Like most ex military, he thought jargon made him sound professional, unaware that it only made him seem less reliable.

“We have secured the incident area and relocated all relevant personnel to a secure room on the other side of the complex,” Philippe said.  Brouchard wasn’t interested in what this man had to say, but politely thanked him and addressed the Police Officer who had approached.

“Do we have any witnesses?”

“Yes, Inspector.  There are several from the ballroom.  And we found a British man outside.”

“A British man?  He was in the ballroom?”  Brouchard was confused.

“No, Inspector, he was on the roof with the girl when it happened.”

“She fell?”

“He says she was pushed,” came the reply.

Brouchard motioned for him to open the door to the rear of the hotel and the Police Officer complied, letting Brouchard walk back out in to the rain, seeing the ambulance and response vehicles cluttering the alley.  Paramedics were carefully lifting the stretcher carrying Beth Hollaway in to the back of an ambulance.  Brouchard hurried through the rain and climbed in the back of the ambulance beside her.  The Paramedics, both fit looking men in their thirties, began to object, but the Police Officer pulled them aside to quiet them down while the Inspector knelt beside the wounded girl.

Her face was cut up from the glass, her neck in a brace, a respirator on her face, helping her breathe.  She was a mess and it broke his heart to see the young woman like this.  He took her hand and was reminded of his wife.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “I promise you, I will find the man who did this to you.”

She could barely move her head, but her eyes focused on him and he could see she understood.  With that, he climbed back out of the ambulance and headed back inside, calling the Police Officer back and demanding to interview the British man.

He didn’t see Guillotine move through the crowd, approaching one of the Paramedics with a convincing look of concern on his face.  Brouchard had already gone back inside when Guillotine got to the Paramedics.

“That’s my wife,” he said, pointing to Beth inside the ambulance. “Can I ride with her?” he asked, sounding as solemn as he could.  It was convincing enough as the Paramedic hesitated for a second, wanting to get the ambulance moving and nodded.

“Get in.  Hurry!”

Guillotine thanked him, kept his head down and climbed in to the back of the ambulance as the Paramedic closed the door behind them and the vehicle moved out of the alley, pulling out on to the Boulevard, passing the news vans as they rolled up out front of the hotel like ravenous vultures come to feed on the injured.  Seconds later, the siren was blaring and they were roaring through the Paris traffic. Beth could feel the vehicle moving, but had no idea the man who had done this to her was standing three feet away from her, his eyes fixed on her face.

Chapter Forty Six

The Paramedic was working hard to stabilize Beth.  Guillotine kept his back to her, hiding until he was ready to reveal himself.  Beth could only see the roof of the ambulance, her head locked in place so only her eyes could move.  Up front, there was only the driver.  He was speaking on the radio, calling ahead with a report on her injuries so the emergency room team would be ready for her.  Guillotine knew she would never make it.

He calculated he had about three minutes before they reached the hospital.  He would have to move fast.  He pulled the blade from his pocket and turned to the Paramedic behind him.  The young man was checking the respirator system, bent over Beth with his back to Guillotine.  She was securely fastened in to the stretcher and immobilized.  Guillotine moved fast, the blade went in to the young man’s neck, one fast cut and the windpipe was severed.  Guillotine took the young man’s arm and politely moved him away from Beth as the arterial spray began to spatter across the cabinets containing medical supplies and down on to her face.  The young Paramedic grasped his wound in shock, his mind trying to make sense of what had just happened.  His death was already assured, the man was merely seconds from realizing it.  Surrounded by all manner of medical accessories, yet ironically beyond saving.  Guillotine helped him to sit on the floor and took the Paramedic’s hand away from the wound, allowing the blood to flow freely down his neck and chest and cover his thighs.  He looked up at his killer in confusion, trying to understand what had happened.  Guillotine smiled, feeling pride at a job well done and he watched in fascination as the light went dim in the young man’s eyes and his body went slack, his head slumped on his chest. The Paramedic twitched a couple of times, his legs flicking out in a grotesque spasm as the last drops of life reluctantly left him.

He stepped over to Beth and leaned over her face.  Her eyes locked on to his and her breathing came faster from beneath the oxygen mask.  She tried to move but the straps securing her to the stretcher had been locked down tight. 

“Now don’t go anywhere; I’ll just be a moment,” he said and moved out of her sightline, heading for the driver’s cab.

A few minutes later, Guillotine was in the driver’s seat, the window down and the driver’s body on the floor of the ambulance between him and the passenger seat.  He had made it quick and pulled the man from the seat and away from the steering wheel to avoid a crash.  With the window open and the cold rain falling from the sky, Guillotine enjoyed feeling it sweep in through the window, his face caressed by the night itself.  What had looked to be an untenable situation earlier, he decided that his master work was, indeed, finally going to be unleashed.  Some elemental force beyond his control was watching out for him, despite his Aunts’ best attempts to stop him.  He wanted to believe that he was that force.  That he had beaten the Fates and his Aunts.  He glanced in the rearview and saw them back there, standing over Beth at the gurney.  He wondered if she could see them.  He looked away, back to the streets, in a sublime feeling of bliss.  Then he felt his Aunts standing behind him, blocking the path back to Beth, they had somehow moved to him in the blink of an eye. 

“You lost.  You failed!  I am triumphant!”

Beth felt the ambulance speed up and, when he turned off the siren, she could hear voices up front. She hadn’t seen anyone else get in the vehicle with them but it sounded like he was talking to someone up there in the cab.  The voices sounded female.  Older women, who rasped and didn’t so much as speak but spat out their words. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, it sounded as though they were berating him. They stopped talking and moments later she heard him screaming, a high pitched wail, his fists slamming against the dashboard in a frenzied rage.

She was the most terrified when she felt the vehicle pull over and the engine and the siren were turned off.  Now, there was only the sound of the rain spattering on the roof above her and the low hiss of the oxygen coming through the mask.  She heard the women whispering again and then they fell silent.  She heard the man climb out of the cab and close the driver’s side door shut behind him.  The rain spattered incessantly on the roof of the ambulance above her.  The anticipation of what would happen next was unbearable.  She wanted to break free but every time she moved, pain shot through her body.  The rear doors opened, the rain got louder and then there he was, his scarred face floating directly directly above her.  He was smiling tenderly.

“I told you the fall wouldn’t kill you.”

Chapter Forty Seven

Brouchard walked back to the lobby and saw the motorcycle cop walking Lara McBride in to the hotel with her hands cuffed behind her back.  That simply would not do and he hoped the news cameras had not caught it.  After all, they knew who she was and this would raise questions.  He didn’t have time for a press conference.

“Take those off her immediately,” he ordered the Officer.

“Inspector, she was firing a gun in the theatre,” the cop protested.

Brouchard leaned in close, using all his considerable weight- physical and official.

“
Now
,” he commanded and the cop did as he was told.  Once the cuffs were off, Lara squeezed her wrists back to life and remained quiet, viewing the media circus outside and seeing the hotel staff all gathered by the front desk not having the first clue what to do.

“You will put in your report that you assisted me in pursuit of the murder suspect and that you were acting as back up to Detective McBride here,” Brouchard explained firmly.  He saw in the man’s face that he had no idea who he had arrested.  Suddenly, the motorcycle cop’s entire demeanor changed and the blood drained from his face.

“I’m sorry, Inspector, I had no idea.  I saw a woman with a gun and-”

Brouchard cut him off.

“Do you have the weapon?”

The cop reached in to his jacket and produced the pistol he had taken from her, now secured in a plastic evidence bag.  He handed it to Brouchard.

“Thank you,” Brouchard said and motioned for Lara to follow him.  He didn’t look back at the motorcycle cop, who quickly left the building hoping he would still have a job tomorrow.

“This is not good,” Brouchard said as they crossed the lobby to the private meeting rooms in the back.  She followed him down a long carpeted hallway and through a solid oak door. Mahogany furniture, deep carpet and gold gildings.  She was impressed.  It might have been the nicest room she could remember ever having been in.  It beat the meeting rooms at the airport hotels she was used to.

“None of this is good,” Lara retorted.  “I had him.  If Super Cop back there hadn’t shown up it’d be me walking our man in here in handcuffs.”

“Shit,” Brouchard exhaled. 

“How’s Beth?  Is she alive?”

She saw Jason was sat waiting impatiently at the polished wooden table that dominated the middle of the room.  He looked exhausted and pissed off and she couldn’t blame him for either.  The hotel staff had brought him a bottle of scotch, there were glasses by the bottled waters in the middle of the table and he had a bucket of ice in front of him. The setting was far too elegant for the horror that had brought them here.

“Inspector,” Jason said, not lifting his eyes from his glass. “Shouldn’t you be out there looking for him instead of sitting in here talking to us?”  Now he looked up, his eyes filled with accusation and more than a little alcohol.

“You think you are the only ones who are pissed off?” Brouchard balked.

“He killed my best friend and threw a girl off a rooftop.  Yes, I’m pissed off.  I want to find him and rip his fucking throat out.”

“Jason, you should probably go home,” Lara said, walking over to the table, where she took the cloth from beneath the ice bucket, dropped a handful of ice cubes in to it and placed it to the back of her sore head.

“You do this for a living,” Jason said to her.  “How do you deal with it?”

“You’ve got the right idea,” Lara stated, taking his glass and downing the rest of the scotch.  Jason handed her the bottle.  She wasn’t entirely lying, there were some nights she would reach for a bottle of hard liquor.  It never helped, but never hurt, except the morning after.

“There are other considerations in play now, Detective,” Brouchard said, focusing on Lara.

“What bloody considerations? ” Jason asked, exasperated with the never ending complications.  Lara knew what the Inspector meant already and had been waiting for this to happen.

“The brass must be leaning on you pretty hard now, Inspector.  What do they want?  Me on the next plane out of here because they can’t control the man we’re after but they can swat me away with a plane ticket? Is that the brilliant idea the powers that be have come up with because I’ve seen it before and it’s always wrong.”

“There is, apparently, a war meeting going on right now to decide what is to be done with the both of us.  They acknowledge that there is a killer on the streets of Paris who has murdered two American businesswomen.”

“That’s very gracious of them,” Lara said.

“As for your sister and any other missing women, they have informed me that the evidence is not very compelling.  They are, however, concerned about your presence and the fact we have another American woman en route to intensive care.”

“When can we go see Beth in the hospital?” Jason asked.

“I will let you know as soon as I know,” Brouchard offered.  Lara handed Jason the glass and he refilled it with more scotch and ice.

“Who knows about the PhotoFit?” Lara asked.

“So far, just us.  But in light of what has happened here, they will want to release it.”

“Then don’t give it to them.  What I said before about him going to ground still stands.”

“Convince me.”