PART XII
The Ruins October 2007
CHAPTER 98
DOMAINE DE LA CADE
WEDNESDAY 31ST OCTOBER 2007
‘Dr O’Donnell,’ Hal shouted again.
It was ten past twelve. For more than fifteen minutes he’d been waiting outside Shelagh O’Donnell’s house. He’d tried knocking. Neither of her neighbours was in, so he’d gone for a walk and come back, started knocking again. Still, nothing.
Hal was certain he was in the right place – he’d checked the address several times – and he didn’t think she could have forgotten. He was trying to keep positive, but it was becoming more of a challenge with every second that passed. Where was she? The traffic was bad this morning, so maybe she’d got held up? Maybe she was in the shower and hadn’t heard him?
The worst-case scenario – and, he had to admit, the most likely – was that Shelagh had thought better of going with him to the police. Her dislike of authority was clear and Hal could easily see her losing what little nerve she had without him and Meredith there to back her up.
He pushed his fingers through his mop of hair, took a step back and looked up at the shuttered windows. The house stood in the middle of a pretty row next to the River Aude, overlooking the water, shielded on one side from the walkway by a fence of green angle-iron and split bamboo canes. It occurred to him that he might be able to see into the garden from the back. He followed the line of the buildings, then doubled back on himself. It was hard to tell which house was which from the back, but he matched the colour wash of the walls – one house was painted pale blue, another a thin yellow – until he was confident he knew which was Shelagh O’Donnell’s property.
There was a low wall at right angles to the hedge. Hal walked closer to get a glimpse of the terrace. Hope sparked in his chest. It looked as if there was someone there.
‘Dr O’Donnell? It’s me, Hal Lawrence.’
There was no answer.
‘Dr O’Donnell? It’s a quarter past twelve.’
She appeared to be lying face down on the small terrace next to the house. It was a sheltered spot and the sun was surprisingly warm for the tail-end of October, but it was hardly sunbathing weather. Perhaps she was reading a book; he couldn’t see. But whatever she was doing, he thought with irritation, she had clearly decided to ignore him – to pretend he wasn’t there. His view was obscured by a pair of unkempt planters.
‘Dr O’Donnell?’
His phone vibrated in his pocket. His mind only half on it, he pulled it out and read the message.
‘Found them. Sepulchre now. xx.’
Hal stared blankly at the words on the screen, then his brain flipped into gear and he started to smile, understanding Meredith’s message.
‘At least someone’s having a productive morning,’ he muttered, then went back to the matter in hand. He wasn’t going to let it drop. After all the effort he’d put in to persuading the commissaire to see them this morning, he wasn’t going to let Shelagh duck out.
‘Dr O’Donnell!’ he called out again. ‘I know you’re there.’
He started to wonder. Even if she had changed her mind, it was odd that she was taking no notice at all. He was making enough noise. He hesitated, then pulled himself up and climbed over the wall. There was a heavy stick lying on the terrace, half pushed under the hedge. He picked it up, then noticed there were marks at the top.
Blood, he realised.
He ran across the terrace to where Shelagh O’Donnell was lying motionless. One look was enough to see she’d been hit, and more than once. He checked her pulse. She was still breathing, although she didn’t look great.
Hal pulled the phone from his pocket and dialled for an ambulance with shaking fingers.
‘Maintenant!’ he shouted, after he’d given the address three times. ‘Oui, elle souffle! Mais vite, alors!’
Hal disconnected. He rushed into the house, found a blanket draped over the back of the sofa, ran back outside. He laid it carefully over Shelagh to keep her warm, knowing he shouldn’t attempt to move her, then went back into the house and out the front door into the street. He felt guilty about what he was about to do, but he couldn’t wait around in Rennes-les-Bains for the paramedics. He had to get back.
He hammered on the neighbour’s door. When she answered, he told the startled woman what had happened, asked her to stay with Dr O’Donnell until the ambulance arrived, then bolted to his car before she had a chance to object.
He fired up the engine and put his foot on the accelerator. There was only one person who could be responsible. He had to get back to the Domaine de la Cade. And find Meredith.
Julian Lawrence slammed the car door and charged up the front steps of the hotel.
He shouldn’t have panicked.
There were beads of sweat running down his face and soaking into the collar of his shirt. He stumbled into reception. He needed to get to his study and calm down. Then work out what to do.
‘Monsieur? Monsieur Lawrence?’
He swung round, his vision a little blurred, to see the receptionist waving at him.
‘Monsieur Lawrence,’ Eloise started, then broke off. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ he snapped. ‘What is it?’
She recoiled. ‘Your nephew asked me to give you this.’
Julian covered the space in three strides and snatched the paper from Eloise’s outstretched hands. The note was from Hal, curt and to the point, wanting to set up a meeting between them at two o’clock.
Julian screwed the paper in his fist. ‘What time did he leave this?’ he demanded.
‘About ten thirty, Monsieur, just after you went out.’
‘Is my nephew in the hotel now?’
‘I believe he went to Rennes-les-Bains just before noon to collect the visitor who was with him earlier. To my knowledge, he hasn’t yet come back.’
‘Was the American girl with him?’
‘No. She went out into the gardens,’ she replied, glancing at the doors to the terrace.
‘How long ago was this?’
‘At least one hour, Monsieur.’
‘Did she say what she was doing? Where she was going? Did you hear anything between her and my nephew, Eloise? Anything?’
Her growing alarm at his manner showed in her eyes, but she answered calmly.
‘No, Monsieur, although …’
‘What?’
‘Before she went out to the gardens she asked if she might borrow a – I don’t know the English word – une pelle.’
Julian started. ‘A spade?’
Eloise leapt back in alarm as Julian smacked his hands down on the desk, leaving two damp palm prints on the counter. Ms Martin would hardly ask for a spade if she didn’t intend to dig. And she had waited until she knew he had left the hotel.
‘The cards,’ he muttered. ‘She knows where they are.’
‘Qu’est-ce qu’il y a, monsieur?’ said Eloise nervously. ‘Vous semblez—’
Julian didn’t answer, just turned on his heel, strode across the hall and threw open the door to the terrace, sending it slamming back against the wall.
‘What shall I say when your nephew comes back?’ Eloise called after him.
From the small window at the back of reception, she watched him stride away. Not down to the lake, as Madame Martin had done earlier, but in the direction of the woods.
