Fatale - Jean-Patrick Manchette [34]
“Not me,” said Sinistrat in a stricken voice. “I am merely an observer here.”
“Shut up, Sinistrat,” commanded DiBona. “You are pissing us off.”
“Yes, quite,” said Lorque. “Besides, these subtleties are of no concern to Madame Joubert.” He took another step towards Aimée. The young woman could clearly discern the features of the fat man with the brownish eyelids. His expression was concerned and sleepy. “I have arranged for the two million old francs you are short to be brought,” he said, “and they are here in this room. So you can still take them and go to the station. The commissioner will be delighted to drive you there. You can collect the hundred and eighty thousand francs from the lockers and get on the train to Paris with your plentiful booty. As for the documents, since you didn’t take them they are still there at the baron’s; the commissioner will have to pay a visit to the scene of the tragic event and take possession of them, then make his initial report concluding that the death was accidental. So even though you have failed to comply fully with the terms of the contract, everything can still be worked out if you wish. But do you wish it? From what I hear, you do not.”
A match was struck in the darkness. By its light Aimée saw the calm face of Lenverguez as he lit a cigar. Near the young woman, Lorque remained silent and thoughtful for a moment, his eyes lowered. From the group of men came a cough and the sound of shuffling feet. Having nothing to say, Aimée said nothing.
“In any event,” said Lorque, “how can you be trusted now?”
“I can’t,” said Aimée.
There were two desks in the room, cluttered with papers, along with metal filing cabinets and two chairs. Aimée grabbed one of the chairs, jumped onto a filing cabinet, and, holding the chair out in front of her, leaped through the closed window. She fell from the second story in a shower of broken glass. She landed on all fours; the chair, which she was still holding, shattered into pieces beneath her. A long splinter of wood from the seat broke off and penetrated the left forearm of the young woman, who rolled onto her side, bruising her shoulder and causing the glass fragments beneath her to snap and crackle. She also twisted an ankle slightly.
“Don’t shoot, Fellouque!” cried Lorque.
Aimée got to her feet. In the half-light she could see the glassed-in room above, a gaping hole on one side, and the white patches of the faces peering down at her. She wrenched the splinter of wood from her arm and made off as fast as she could, limping a little, towards a dark corner. She slipped into a narrow alley and emerged into the dirty street that runs behind the market. She followed it for some twenty meters, tripping over the piles of empty shells. Then she turned off again down another alley between warehouses. There, in the dark, she stopped and felt herself all over. No bones broken. The glass had cut her superficially on both elbows and one side of her head. Her scalp was bleeding, as was the wound from the wood splinter. But still, she was not losing a great deal of blood. She heard the sound of people running at top speed. At the end of the alleyway where the young woman was lying low two figures passed quickly, breathing heavily, running along the street. Farther away other racing footsteps on the asphalt were audible. After a moment silence returned. Aimée stayed still where she was. She was barely bleeding now. She massaged her painful ankle and her shoulder.
“Madame Joubert?” Lorque called out.
He must have been about fifty meters away. He was not shouting very loudly. Aimée had to listen hard to make out his words.
“We know you are there,” he was saying. “You can’t get out of this area. We have both ends covered. You can still make a deal with us.” The source of his voice shifted, moving farther off. Lorque obviously had no clear idea of exactly where she was. “We are not murderers. It is essential that we come to terms. Answer me!”
The blustering voice continued for a few more moments, less and less intelligibly. Aimée was no longer