The Watchers (53 page)

The steel hammer cocked back and slammed down on Marie’s iron skirt five times. Rochat watched her, waiting politely for her to finish ringing the hour, then he went back to sweeping the balcony. He stopped and listened. Something was strange. The wind should have carried Marie’s voice away, but the sound hovered as if clinging to the timbers, afraid to leave. Rochat shuffled back, reached through the carpentry and touched her.

‘What’s wrong, Marie? You sound sad. I thought you’d be happy the angel’s going home soon.’

The bell vibrated still with the slightest hum. He jumped on a timber and pressed his ear to the edge of her skirt. He listened to her fading voice.

‘Why would you say that, Marie? I’m not going anywhere. Rochat will always be with you. Don’t worry.’

He climbed into the great bell’s timber cage and shuffled to the snowman in the corner, pretending to rearrange the scarf around its neck.

‘Monsieur Neige, please keep an eye on Marie. She’s imagining sad things. Tell her snowman jokes if you know any.’

‘Marc?’

He turned, looked through the carpentry and saw a pretty girl with short black hair standing on the south balcony. The girl’s eyes under black eyebrows looked familiar but Rochat couldn’t be sure.

‘Who are you?’

‘It’s me, Katherine.’

He looked from her black trainers to her black jeans, her black jumper and up to her face, to her black eyebrows and the short black hair on the top of her head. He saw small Band-Aid strips across the scar on her cheek.

‘They won’t know it’s you.’

‘Who?’

‘Those men.’

Katherine smiled.

‘Except when you smile. You look like you when you smile.’

‘Believe me, I bump into those freaks again I won’t be smiling.’ She shivered in the wind. ‘Jeez, it’s getting cold.’

‘The sun’s going down and a storm is coming.’

She leaned next to a stone pillar.

‘Gosh, it really is like being on the edge of a cloud up here. You feel like you can see the whole world. Hey, I can see a Christmas tree in somebody’s window.’

Rochat jumped through the timbers with the broom in his hands, and landed next to Katherine. They watched lights come alive over Lausanne. Streetlamps on corners, headlamps of cars and trams moving through the streets and over the bridges, frosty windows of the old city glowing with warm light. They took turns spotting Christmas lights on buildings, strung on the construction cranes high above Flon, in the windows of people’s homes. He heard Katherine sigh.

‘It’s all so different from up here, I feel like … I don’t know.’

Rochat looked at her face again. Her skin was so much whiter with black hair. And her eyes, when he first saw her, her eyes were hazel colours. But now in the fading light they were green, like emeralds. She shivered again.

‘Man, it really turned cold.’

‘Do you want to go inside the loge now? I can make tea.’

‘No, I want to watch the lights for a while. It’s kind of like watching your candles in the nave. It’s so pretty.’

‘
D’accord
.’

Rochat rested the broom against the iron railings, shuffled in the loge, came back out with Monsieur Buhlmann’s black cloak. He helped her put it on.

‘You know, you’re quite the gentleman, Marc. That girl you’re going to meet for Christmas lunch will be knocked out.’

Rochat wasn’t sure what that meant.

‘Is that a good thing?’

‘Oh yeah, that’s a great thing. And I like the way you’re picking up LA speak. I’m telling you, Marc, you should reconsider being a hair designer. Open a shop on Melrose Avenue and you’d clean up.’

Rochat picked up the broom from the railings.

‘I already do that in the tower.’

She laughed, closing the cloak around her body.

‘Man, sometimes you’re so funny it hurts.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, it’s great, it’s wonderful.’

She fixed the collar of his coat, brushed away flecks of dust and ice from his shoulders.

‘Does she have a name, the girl you’re going to meet?’

Rochat thought carefully till he remembered.

‘Her name is Emeline.’

‘Marc and Emeline. They sound nice together.’

‘
Merci
.’

Katherine turned back to the lights. She took a slow breath. ‘Marc, I think I’m going to leave soon.’

‘I know, because your friend the detectiveman is hiding in the cathedral tonight and I’m very sure he’ll take you home.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I saw him by the fountain before I climbed the tower steps. He said he was coming after dark and I should keep an eye out for him.’

‘Keeps getting more crowded in your cathedral, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t think they mind.’

‘Who?’

‘Otto the Brave Knight, the skeletons, the teasing shadows and the—’

‘Marc?

‘
Oui?
’

‘When you meet Emeline leave out the part about the skeletons, just till she gets to know you.’

‘Why?’

‘Trust me.’ She looked back to the coloured lights dotting Lausanne. ‘There’s something I need to tell you, Marc.’

‘Do you want to tell me now because you have to?’

‘Yeah. While you were buying things for me, I was going to steal the money you had in that tin. I was going to run away.’

Rochat stared at the ground, scratched his head, began to rock back and forth on his heels.

‘You can take the money if you want.’

‘No, listen to me. I wasn’t even going to say goodbye. I thought you’d think you imagined the whole thing. That you’d just go on with your life.’

‘You can take the money.’

‘Oh, believe me, I could take your money, and put a big smile on your face doing it but …’

‘You can take the money if you want.’

She reached to him and took his hands.

‘Marc, listen to me. I’ve spent my whole life not giving a damn about anyone but myself. Then my whole life goes to hell and you gave me a place to hide, you protected me.’

‘It’s my duty.’

She reached under his chin and raised his face, looked in his eyes.

‘No, Marc, it’s who you are.’

‘It’s my duty.’

‘OK, it’s your duty. It’s just … I don’t know what’s going to happen to me and I only know one way of making it in this world. I don’t know if I’ll ever change. But you touched me, Marc. Like no other guy I’ve met.’

‘Is that a good thing?’

‘If you knew the whole story, you’d call it a miracle. What I’m trying to say is … is …’

Her voice faded in the cold wind. Rochat watched her eyes, the way they looked wet.

‘Are you going to cry now?’

‘Yeah, I am. God, I’m so seriously PMSing.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘Never mind, it’s a girl thing.’

She fell silent, he waited for her to speak.

‘It’s just when the time comes, I don’t know how I’ll say goodbye.’

Rochat stared at her, then he turned to Marie-Madeleine. Katherine leaned closer to him.

‘Marc? Did you go somewhere?’

He turned back to Katherine.

‘I was imagining what Marie said a minute ago.’

‘What did she say?’

‘The same thing as you.’

‘What?’

Rochat took off his hat and scratched his head. He almost spoke, but didn’t. He tugged the hat back on.

‘Hey, are you all right?’

‘I’m finished working till it’s time to light the lantern and call the hour. Are you hungry? Because it’s Friday.’

‘I’m starving, but what’s Friday got to do with it?’

‘Friday means Monsieur Dufaux is making
filets de porc avec pommes frites et salade
. And we can have dessert tonight, because you’re leaving with the detectiveman. I can go down to Café du Grütli and pick it up in an hour. And I can make tea now and draw your picture till I go.’

‘You want to draw me? Like this?’

‘I want to draw you like this. So I can remember when you came to the cathedral to hide and I protected you the way Maman told me to.’

‘Yeah, Marc, anything. But it’s a mess in there, let me clean things up. And let me make the tea, I really want to do it.’

Katherine dashed into the loge, poured water from one of the jugs in the kettle and arranged the cups and saucers. He watched her through the open door a moment, then he turned to the great silent bell hanging in the timbers.

‘She said the same thing as you, Marie, about saying goodbye. Why did you both say Maman’s words from beforetimes?’

Rochat looked out over Lausanne and Ouchy. The snow-covered vineyards and villages along the lake, the lights of Évian flickering to life on the far shore and the shadowy mountains cutting into the darkening sky. And the winter sun breaking through the clouds once more and brushing the ice and snow of the shadowy mountains in pastel shades of violet and blue. The timbers creaked and Marie-Madeleine rang out for six o’clock. Rochat watched the last of the light fade from the sky. A cold wind swept through the tower. The dark clouds raced faster towards Lausanne.

‘Be not afraid, Rochat. Be not afraid.’

A familiar fluff of grey fur curled around Rochat’s ankles, rubbed against his crooked foot. He bent down, picked up the beast and held it in his arms.

‘
Bon soir
, Monsieur Booty. Did you come to say goodbye too?’

Mew
.

thirty-three

He picked up the receiver and pressed the button next to the man with the tray.

‘
Oui
, Monsieur Harper?’

‘I’d like to order water to my room.’

‘
Pardon?
’

‘
De l’eau, s’il vous plaît
.’

‘Monsieur has bottled water in his minibar, still and sparkling.’

‘I want the local stuff. Fill a jug from the kitchen tap, toss in a few ice cubes. No lemon, no limes.’

‘Of course, monsieur.’

Harper opened the curtains and watched raindrops smack at the windows. They dripped down the glass like ragged tears. He reached in the pockets of his mackintosh and pulled out the scraps of Enoch, his notebook. He crumbled the lot in his hands and let it fall to the floor. Then the photographs of Yuriev. Seeing the poor sod dragged from the casino by a pair of bad-guy shadows. Harper tore the photos to bits, sprinkled them atop the small paper mountain at his feet.

‘“Corpora lente augescent cito extinguuntur.”’

There was a double tap at the door. Harper looked through the spy hole and saw the waitress with a gun carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and a glass, a bowl of perfectly squared ice cubes. He opened the door.

‘Come on in, champ.’

She walked in, set the tray on the desk with a rude
clank
.

‘The name is Officer Jannsen, monsieur.’

‘Sure, but from what I’ve just been told in the cathedral we’re all pals. You, me, the Inspector, Mutt and Jeff.’

‘I have no idea of who Mutt and Jeff are.’

‘The Inspector’s boys, Mutt and Jeff, rhyming slang for death. Rather good when you think about it, not that I ever was.’

Harper dropped a few ice cubes in the glass, poured from the pitcher.

‘It’s like that other rhyme I heard recently, “Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of Saint Clement’s.” What’s the rest of it?’

‘I wouldn’t know, I’ve never heard it.’

‘No? “You owe me five farthings, Say the bells of Saint Martin’s.”’

‘Will there be anything else, monsieur?’

Harper drank to the bottom of the glass and poured another.

‘You know, this really is the most amazing water. You drink this stuff?’

‘Ten glasses each day.’

‘So that’s the secret. Here I was thinking it’s the milk in this place. Turns out it’s the tap water.’

He drank quickly, poured again. There was only half a glass on the third round.

‘Seems I need a few more glasses to meet my quota, Officer Jannsen.’

‘Then may I suggest you refill your glass from the bathroom sink?’

‘Swell, I’ll just finish this.’

Harper threw the water in her face and kicked her across the back of her knees. She went down hard. He tore the gun from her holster and tested the weight.

‘Well, well. A SIG P-229R, necked throat for a .357 hollow-point round, DAK trigger system.’

‘What are you doing?’

He flipped off the safety and took point blank aim at her head.

‘Haven’t you heard, there’re traitors everywhere. Can’t trust anyone.’

‘Are you insane?’

‘In this town that passes for normal. Now, let’s see if you followed standard operating procedures. Did you load a bullet in the firing chamber before you entered the room or not?’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Wrong.’

He swung back his arm, pulled the trigger. An explosion punched through the room like a boxer’s fist, the room’s windows blew apart. Harper brought the barrel down on her head.

‘Your spare clips, mademoiselle, if you please.’

‘You could have killed a local!’

‘We’re well above the locals and the bullet’s already taking a dive in the lake. Odds of killing man or fish are well within rules of engagement.’

Harper heard a polite cough behind him.

‘Are we interrupting something?’

Harper turned, saw the cop in the cashmere coat standing in the hallway. Mutt and Jeff either side with their own hefty weapons drawn. Laser sights targeted on the kill spot between Harper’s eyes.

‘May I remind you, Mr Harper, that regardless of the intended eternity of your being, if my men shoot you in human form you’ll die.’

‘Die in their form, you die for ever.’

‘I’m pleased you remember how it works.’

Harper lowered the weapon, flipped on the safety, stuffed it in his belt. Mutt and Jeff holstered their guns. Officer Jannsen jumped from the floor, stood at attention.

‘
Je suis désolée, Inspecteur
.’

‘Oh, think nothing of it, officer. Now that Mr Harper’s finally come around he’s a very different sort of perch. But would you be so kind as to give him your kill kit?’

Officer Jannsen raised her skirt, pulled two ammo clips from the velcro garters around her left thigh and the black steel knife strapped to her right. She handed them over.