Century Rain Part 50

"My partner found something odd in Susan White's room. The wireless set had been altered, probably

by Susan herself. It looks as if she was using it to receive instructions, or perhaps to tap into communications between rival spies."

"Ah. So now we've got two groups of spies? It gets better, it really does."

"Custine never did crack the code. Turns out his attempts were futile anyway: Susan was using an Enigma machine."

"I'm quite sure that means something to you, but-"

"It's a sophisticated enciphering machine. Which makes me think she was a spy. So what does that make you?"

"You're being totally absurd."

"Except I'm not the one who just crawled out of a Metro tunnel."

For a long while, Auger said nothing at all. Floyd took boulevard Garibaldi as far as place Cambronne

and then steered on to Emile Zola, heading towards Auger's hotel.

"Look," she said, "I can't expect you to understand any of this, but everything I told you about my sister

was the truth. However, it's also true that she had some kind of fixation with Cardinal Lemoine station. I told you she believed forces were moving against her, didn't I?"

"Maybe you did," he allowed.

"I can't explain the wireless, or that machine you mentioned...except to say that if you listen to the radio

these days, there are a lot of odd transmissions. And who knows where she found that machine? I take it this is something you can buy, if you want one badly enough?"

"Get to your point, Miss Auger."

"My point," she continued, "is that it's more than likely that my sister picked up one of these odd radio channels and absorbed it into her private conspiracy. As for the tunnel...well, I can't deny that she thought there was something down there. She mentioned it more than once in her postcards. She also mentioned that she had hidden something valuable in there. Whether she had or not, I couldn't say, but I knew I wouldn't be able to leave Paris without finding out for myself."

"And this didn't strike you as being just the slightest bit dangerous?"

"Of course I knew it was dangerous. And of course I couldn't very well tell the man in the station what I was doing."

Floyd's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "So that's all it was? Just tidying up some of your sister's unfinished business?"

"Yes," she said emphatically.

"It still doesn't explain why there have been two deaths. Got a neat explanation for that as well, have you?"

"As you already said yourself, Blanchard probably felt guilty about what had happened to Susan. Perhaps her death was an accident after all. Those low railings look unsafe to me."

Floyd slowed the car to a crawl as they neared the hotel, looking for a suitable parking spot. The bad weather had brought everyone out in their cars, with only a few brave souls chancing the sidewalks.

"You know what?" he said. "I'm half-tempted to believe you. I'd like nothing more than to close this case with a clear conscience. Maybe you are exactly who you say you are, and all the suspicious circ.u.mstances I keep seeing are just red herrings left behind by your sister."

"Now you're beginning to talk sense," Auger said.

"There's a woman in my life who wants to leave France," Floyd said. "She wants me to pack my bags and leave with her. A large part of me wants to go with her."

"Maybe you should listen to that large part."

"I'm listening," Floyd said, "and right now the only thing that's keeping me here is the thought that I might be turning my back on something big. That and the fact that my partner is in a lot of trouble with the police, and will be until this case is closed."

"Don't get sucked into Susan's games," Auger said. Making an obvious effort to sound uninterested, she asked, "So who is this woman, anyway?"

"You've met her." Floyd had spotted a parking s.p.a.ce. He crunched the Mathis into reverse and prepared

to ease the ma.s.sive car into an available s.p.a.ce, thinking of the car as a coal barge and the s.p.a.ce as a vacant berth. "She's the woman who followed you from my office."

"The cleaning girl?"

"The cleaning girl, yeah. Except she isn't a cleaning girl. Her name's Greta and she's a jazz musician.

Good at her job, too."

"She's pretty. You should go with her."

"Easy as that, is it?"

"There's nothing to keep you in Paris, Wendell."

He looked at her. "We're back on Wendell now, are we?"

"I've seen the state of your office-business isn't exactly booming. I'm sorry about your partner, but I

a.s.sure you, there really isn't a case to be investigated here."

The Mathis's rear fender kissed the front fender of a dented Citroen behind them. Floyd slipped the car

into first gear and was inching it forward when Auger suddenly lunged hard across the back seat, away from the side nearest the hotel. "Drive," she said.

Floyd looked back at her. "What?"

"Get out of here. Fast."

"I can't. I have to pick up Greta."

"Wendell-just drive."

Something in her voice made him obey her without further question. He lurched the Mathis out of the

parking s.p.a.ce, not minding that he sc.r.a.ped the car in front of him in the process. He just had time to glance towards the lobby of the hotel and see the small child standing on the steps immediately in front of the door, playing with a yo-yo. The child was male, wearing shorts and a T-shirt and shiny buckled shoes over white socks. But there was nothing boyish about the child's face. Floyd would never have given the boy a moment's attention had Auger not been so obviously alarmed, but now that he looked more closely, he saw that his face was wrinkled and cadaverous: a withered parody of a child's.

The boy looked towards them and smiled.

"The boy?"

"Just get us out of here," Auger said.

Across the street, the gla.s.s door to a bra.s.serie swung open. Greta rushed out with her coat bundled over

one arm, a waiter following her with a tray in his hand and a bewildered look on his face. Greta turned around without stopping and threw some money towards him.

Floyd hit the brakes.

"What are we waiting for?" Auger asked, her alarm increasing. She leaned forward anxiously and grasped the back of Floyd's seat, trying to see what was holding them up.

Floyd leaned over and popped the front pa.s.senger-side door. "Make that 'who,' not 'what.' I had Greta

watching the Royale in case I didn't pick you up in Cardinal Lemoine."

Floyd's attention darted back to the boy. He had reeled in his yo-yo and was taking slow, thoughtful steps towards the car. Behind the Mathis, a queue of vehicles was already making its impatience known.

"We can't wait any longer," Auger said, her knuckles white on the seat back.

Floyd signalled to Greta to move faster. She slipped behind the Mathis and slid in through the pa.s.senger- side door, pushing wet strands of black hair from her brow. Even before she had pulled the door shut, Floyd had the car moving again, picking up speed towards the Mirabeau bridge. At the intersection with

the quayside road, he swung the car back north, towards the Eiffel Tower. The low clouds had snipped off the top of the structure, as if it had never been completed.

"Would someone mind telling me what's going on?" Greta asked, pushing her coat over the back of the

seat.

"I found Miss Auger."

Greta looked at the woman in the back of the car. "So I gathered. But why the sudden excitement?"

"She told me to drive," Floyd said. "She sounded as if she meant it."

"And you just do whatever she says?"

Floyd caught Auger's eye in the rear-view mirror. "Is it safe now?"

"Just keep driving," she said. "Since you made a point of not crossing the river, I presume you're taking

us back to your office?"

"Unless you have a better idea," he replied. "What happened back there? What made it unsafe for us to hang around?"

Auger shook her head once. "It doesn't matter. Just drive."

"It was the boy with the yo-yo," Floyd said. "Wasn't it?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

He turned to Greta. "You kept a good watch on the hotel since I left?"

"No, Floyd. I painted my fingernails and browsed fashion magazines. What do you think I was doing?"

"Did you see the boy?"

"Yes," Greta said, after a moment's consideration. "I did. And I didn't like the look of him either."