The three police cars, sirens now silenced, pulled up into the driveway of Le Jardin Bed & Breakfast. Police emptied out of the vehicles, running stealthily up to the building, spreading out, covering every exit.
‘Ouvrez cette porte!Police!’ shouted the French chief. His colleague stood by with the ram – he’d give it five seconds before giving him the nod to use it. His team were in position at the back of the building. A window opened a couple of floors up and a bleary-eyed woman leaned her head out, asked what was going on. They ignored her.
The front door suddenly opened. An imperious middle-aged woman in a bed jacket, her long grey hair curled over one shoulder, stood on the threshold.
‘Are you the owner of this business?’ asked the police chief, in French, as he entered, his team streaming past into the property.
Themadameeyed him haughtily. ‘Yes.’
‘We’re looking for two English women, mid-thirties.’
‘They’re on the second floor. Room five.’
The words were barely out of her mouth when the police chief, accompanied by his colleague, were up the stairs. The door to room five was shut.
‘Key,’ barked the police chief to themadame, who elbowed him aside and, removing a key from a large bunch in her pocket, slid it into the lock.
‘Step aside, Madame,’ said the police chief and, gun raised, he pushed open the door. It swung open to reveal an empty room.
‘Merda!’ muttered Baroni. She’d been in this house since the early hours of the morning, holed up in the living room. She looked at the English woman with the red face who was sitting down in the armchair. ‘You’re certain you rang us the minute Ellie called?’
‘Positive,’ said Susanna. ‘I was asleep when she phoned me from the B & B in Carcassonne – like I told you. She said she’d crept downstairs leaving Abby in bed. She’s found your gun.’ Susanna turned accusingly to Matteo, who was leaning against the wall, listening to Baroni’s report of failing to catch his wife and her sister.
‘She’s terrified,’ continued Susanna. ‘She begged me to send help. To get therebefore Abby woke up,’ she emphasized, this time turning to set her accusing gaze on Baroni.
‘We sent the message through immediately,’ insisted Baroni. ‘As far as I’m aware, the French police responded rapidly. Perhaps Abby woke early.’
‘It was five thirty a.m.!’ said Susanna.
Matteo looked up at his mother-in-law. ‘She has a lot on her mind,’ he said pointedly.
‘None of this is normal behaviour,’ said Susanna, upset. ‘My daughter is running across bloody Europe with a bloody gun and dragging poor Ellie along with her and God knows how this is all going to end. But if anything happens to my beautiful girl’ – Susanna looked from Baroni to Matteo, her eyes blazing – ‘I will never forgive either of you.’
FORTY-FOUR
They were on the move again. Driving, driving. Running. Ellie was following the map, giving her sister directions. To where, she didn’t know. She was just heading in the opposite direction to where they’d come from.
Ellie suddenly realized she was having trouble focusing. She looked down at the page again. A jumble of squiggly lines, the minor roads white and ghostlike in contrast to the main red roads they had to avoid. It was easy to lose your way, easy to get snarled up on a route that became like a tangled mess of spaghetti, twisting this way and that, with no way to get back on track.
Ellie had given up checking the mirror to her right. No police cars had followed them. She understood the police they’d seen early that morning had got to the B & B too late. And now the two of them were untraceable again.
‘Where are we going?’ she suddenly asked Abby.
‘Just keep heading west.’
‘West is Spain.’
‘Is it? Fancy some paella? A bit of flamenco?’ asked Abby, breaking into hysterical laughter.
Ellie glanced across. Her sister was losing it. Or had she been like that since they’d set off? Mad? Obsessive?
‘Has Jamie called?’ asked Ellie.
‘I haven’t switched the phone on yet. It’s only just gone six in the morning, five in the UK.’
‘We should check.’
‘I will.’
