The Frozen Dead (67 page)

As the burning buildings receded in the distance behind them, Hirtmann gazed at the back of the driver's neck, and felt the cold metal of the gun in his pocket.

*   *   *

‘How do we get through the gate?'

Servaz examined it. The wrought iron looked strong, and only a battering ram would get the better of it. He turned to look at Ziegler. She pointed to the ivy winding its way round one of the pillars.

‘We'll have to climb it.'

In full view of the camera,
he thought.

‘Any idea how many people are inside?' asked Samira.

She was checking the chamber of her gun.

‘Maybe there's no one; maybe they all got away,' said Ziegler.

‘Or maybe there are ten, twenty or thirty of them,' Espérandieu remarked.

He pulled out his Sig Sauer and a brand-new magazine.

‘In that case, we have to hope they respect the law,' joked Samira. ‘This is a twist: murderers going over the wall at the same time in two different places.'

‘We have no proof that Lombard had time to go over the wall,' answered Servaz. ‘I'm sure he's in there. That's why he'd like to see us all rush over to the Institute.'

Confiant said nothing. He was glaring at Servaz. They saw Ziegler grab hold of the ivy and, with great ease, scramble up the pillar, grab the closed-circuit camera at the top, regain her balance and jump down on the other side. Servaz motioned to Pujol and Simeoni to keep watch with the young judge. Then he took a deep breath and followed Ziegler's example, although he found it a lot harder, particularly with the flak jacket under his jumper. Espérandieu brought up the rear.

Servaz felt a sharp pain on landing and cried out. When he took a step, he felt the pain again. He had twisted his ankle.

‘Is something wrong?'

‘I'll be all right,' he answered curtly.

To prove his point, he set off with a limp, pain shooting through his leg with every step. He clenched his teeth. He made sure that, for once, he hadn't forgotten his gun.

‘Is it loaded?' asked Ziegler next to him. ‘Have a bullet ready in the chamber.
Now.
And keep it in your hand.'

He swallowed. Her comment set his nerves on edge.

It was five minutes past one.

Servaz lit a cigarette and gazed at the chateau at the end of the long, paved avenue, lined with centuries-old oak trees. The façade and the white lawns were brightly lit, the topiary animals as well; small projectors were shining in the snow. A few windows glowed at the centre of the building.
As if they were expected.

Other than that, nothing was moving. No sign of life in the windows. They had reached the end of the road, he thought. A chateau. Like in a fairy tale. A fairy tale for adults.

He's in there. He hasn't left. Everything will be decided here.

It's been written. From the very start.

There was something phantasmagorical about the chateau in that artificial light. Its white façade was truly resplendent. Once again, Servaz thought of what Propp had said:
Look for white.

Why hadn't he thought of it earlier?

*   *   *

‘Stop.'

The driver turned his head slightly towards the rear without taking his eyes off the road.

‘Pardon?'

Hirtmann put the cold metal of the silencer on the gendarme's neck.

‘Stop,' he said.

The car slowed. Hirtmann waited until the driver had pulled over to the side, then pulled the trigger. The man's skull exploded into a puree of blood, bones and brains, splattering the upper left-hand side of the windscreen. A bitter smell of powder filled the car. Long brown streaks trickled down the glass and Hirtmann told himself he would have to clean it before he could set off again.

He turned and looked at Diane; she was still sleeping. He pulled off his mask, got out, then opened the door on the driver's side and pulled him out. He left the body in the snow and searched for a rag. He wiped off the blood splatter as best he could, then went to the back of the car and grabbed Diane. She was still droopy, but he sensed it wouldn't be long before she emerged from the mist of chloroform. He settled her on the passenger seat, fastened her belt tightly, then went to sit behind the wheel with the gun between his thighs. In the snow and the cold night, the gendarme's still-warm body began steaming, as if it were being consumed.

*   *   *

Ziegler stopped at the end of the long, oak-lined approach, at the edge of the large esplanade outside the chateau. The wind was arctic. The large topiary animals, the garden borders dusted with snow, the white façade …
everything seemed so unreal.

And calm.
Deceptively calm,
thought Servaz, all his senses on alert.

Sheltering from the wind behind the trunk of the last oak tree, Ziegler handed one walkie-talkie to Servaz and the other to Espérandieu. She gave her instructions with authority: ‘We'll split up. Two teams. One to the right, one the left. As soon as you two are in position to cover us, you and I will go in,' she said, pointing to Samira. ‘If they resist, we'll fall back and wait for reinforcements.'

Samira nodded and the two women walked quickly towards the second row of trees, where they disappeared, before Servaz could react. He looked at Espérandieu, who shrugged. Then they too slipped in among the trees, in the other direction round the esplanade. All the way, Servaz did not take his eyes from the building.

Suddenly he shuddered.

Something moved.
He thought he saw a shadow flit behind a window.

The walkie-talkie crackled.

‘Are you in position?'

Ziegler's voice. He hesitated. Had he seen something, yes or no?

‘I may have seen someone on the first floor,' he said. ‘I'm not sure.'

‘OK, we'll go in anyway. Cover us.'

He almost told her to wait.

Too late. The women were already moving quickly through the snowy borders, then running across the gravel. Just as they were making their way between the two topiary lions, Servaz felt his blood freeze: a window had opened on the first floor. He saw a gun at the end of an outstretched arm! Without hesitation, he took aim and pulled the trigger. To his great surprise, a windowpane shattered, but not the right one! The shadow vanished.

‘What's going on?' said Ziegler in the walkie-talkie.

He could see her hiding behind one of the giant animals. Not really much protection. A single burst of gunfire through the bushes and it would all be over.

‘Be careful!' he shouted. ‘There's at least one armed man in there! He was about to shoot!'

She gestured to Samira and they rushed towards the chateau. They disappeared inside.
Dear Lord!
Each one of them had more testosterone than he and Espérandieu put together!

‘Your turn,' said Ziegler in the walkie-talkie.

Servaz grunted. They should have fallen back. Nevertheless, he ran towards the entrance to the chateau, with Espérandieu following. Several shots rang out inside. They hurried up the steps of the porch and rushed through the door. Ziegler was firing from behind a statue at the back of the room. Samira was on the floor.

‘What happened?' shouted Servaz.

‘They shot at us!'

Servaz looked at the series of dark rooms. Ziegler was bending over Samira. She was wounded in the leg, bleeding profusely. There was a long bloody streak across the marble floor. The bullet had torn open her thigh, but not the femoral artery. Lying on the floor, Samira was already putting her hand on the wound to stop the bleeding. There was nothing else to do until help came. Ziegler took out her walkie-talkie to call for an ambulance.

‘From now on we stay right here!' insisted Servaz when she had finished. ‘We'll wait for reinforcements.'

‘They won't get here for another hour!'

‘Never mind!'

She nodded.

‘I'll make you a compression bandage,' she said to Samira. ‘You never know: you might have to use your weapon.'

In a few seconds, she fashioned a bandage, wrapping it tightly enough to stop the bleeding. Servaz knew that once the bleeding stopped, an injured person could stay like that without any real danger. He reached for his walkie-talkie.

‘Pujol, Simeoni, get over here!'

‘What's going on?' asked Pujol.

‘They fired at us. Samira is hurt. We need support. We're in the entrance hall. The coast is clear.'

‘Copy.'

He turned his head, and started.

Several stuffed heads were looking down at him from the walls. A bear. A Pyrenean chamois. A stag. One of the heads looked familiar.
Freedom … The horse was staring at him with golden eyes.

Suddenly he saw Irène start running towards the depths of the building.
Shit!

‘Stay with Samira!' he shouted to his assistant, and bolted off after her.

*   *   *

Diane felt as though she'd been sleeping for hours. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the road rushing past the windscreen, and thousands of snowflakes coming to greet them. Then she became aware of a string of crackling messages from the dashboard, slightly to her left.

She turned her head and saw him.

She didn't wonder whether she were dreaming. She knew that, unfortunately, she was not.

He saw that she had woken up and grabbed his gun. He aimed it at her, still driving.

He didn't say a word – there was no need.

Diane could not help but wonder where and when he would kill her. And how. Would she end up like the dozens of others who had never been found – at the bottom of a hole somewhere in the woods? The thought of it paralysed her. In this car she was like an animal caught in a trap. So unbearable was this realisation that anger and determination gradually replaced her fear. And a cold resolution, as icy as the air outside: if she had to die, it would not be as a victim. She would fight; he would pay dearly. The bastard didn't know what was in store for him. She had to wait for the right moment. There was bound to be one; the important thing was to be ready.

*   *   *

Maud, my beloved little sister. Sleep, little sister. Sleep. You are so beautiful when you sleep. So peaceful, so radiant.

I failed you, Maud. I wanted to protect you, you trusted me, you believed in me. I failed you. I wasn't able to keep you from the world, little sister; I could not stop the world from hurting you, dirtying you.

‘We must go now, sir! Come on!'

Éric Lombard turned round, with the can of petrol in his hand. Otto still held his gun, but his other arm hung limply at his side, and the sleeve was soaked in blood.

‘Wait,' he said. ‘Give me just a bit more time, Otto. My little sister … what did they do to her? What did they do to her, Otto?'

He turned back to the coffin. Around him was a vast circular room, brilliantly illuminated. Everything in the room was white: the walls, floor, furnishings. In the middle was a platform. A large ivory-white coffin lay on top of it. There were also two low tables with flowers in vases. The flowers were white, too.

Éric Lombard shook the petrol can over the coffin. It was open. Inside, lying among the ivory padding, Maud Lombard seemed to be sleeping in her white dress. Her eyes closed. Smiling. Immaculate. Immortal.

Plastination. The body's liquids replaced by silicon – like those exhibitions where real, perfectly preserved corpses were displayed. Éric Lombard stared at the angelic young face, now streaming with petrol.

Violence is risen up into a rod of wickedness: none of them shall remain, nor of their multitude, nor of any of theirs: neither shall there be wailing for them. The time is come, the day draweth near … neither shall any strengthen himself in the iniquity of his life. (Ezekiel 7:11–14)

‘Do you hear me, sir? It's time to go!'

‘See how she is sleeping. Look at how peaceful she is. She has never been more beautiful than in this moment.'

‘She's dead, for God's sake! Dead! Get a hold of yourself!'

‘Father read the Bible to us every evening, Otto. Do you remember? The Old Testament. Isn't that right, Maud? He taught us his lessons; he told us to deliver justice ourselves – never to let an insult or a crime go unpunished.'

‘Rouse yourself, sir! We must leave!'

‘But he was an unjust, cruel man. And when Maud grew up and started to go out with her friends, her boyfriends, he treated her the way he had treated our mother.
But they that escape of them shall escape, and shall be on the mountains like doves of the valleys, all of them mourning, every one for his iniquity. All hands shall be feeble, and all knees shall be weak as water. Horror shall cover them.
Ezekiel, chapter seven.'

Shots rang out over their heads. Otto turned round and went towards the stairway, brandishing his weapon. He grimaced from the pain in his wounded arm.

*   *   *

The man came round the corner. It all happened very quickly. The bullet passed so near that Servaz heard it buzzing. He didn't have time to react. Ziegler was already firing and he saw the man collapse. His gun bounced on the floor with a metallic sound.

Ziegler went over to him, still holding her gun in the air. She leaned over him. A large red spot was spreading across his shoulder. He was alive but in shock. She sent a message through the walkie-talkie, then stood up and stepped back.

Servaz, Pujol and Simeoni walked over to her. Behind the statue a stairway led downstairs.

‘This way,' said Pujol.

A white spiral staircase. Curving white marble walls. Steep steps winding down into the bowels of the huge building. Ziegler went down first, her gun held in front of her. Then a shot rang out and she rushed back up for shelter.

‘Shit! There's someone shooting down there!'