The Chaplin Conspiracy Page 10

  The Templar’s expression morphed in an instant. Gone were the lines of stress that pointed to his eyes like daggers. His skin relaxed, the colour returned, the eyes brightened. It was as if the sun had come out in his soul.

  ‘Bring her to me,’ he ordered.

  Patrice nodded and left the room. Rocco had so far remained externally unreactive to this revelation. He didn’t know if it would be in his interests to admit that he’d known she was a Saunière all along or whether to pretend it was news to him. He was in uncharted and dangerous waters, unsure which way to proceed. The Templar said nothing as they waited for Justina to arrive. He gave Rocco no hint as to how he now felt about him.

  The door swung open and Justina walked in. At the Templar’s invitation, she sat next to Rocco. They glanced nervously at each other.

  ‘Can I offer you a drink? Coffee?’

  Both suspects nodded. The Templar called out to Patrice, who was waiting outside, with a request for refreshments. Rocco took a deep breath and asked the question that was burning within him.

  ‘What will happen to us now?’

  ‘Don’t be afraid. Now that we know a little more about you, we will do some background checks on your identities. We will look for evidence that your story is true and we will look for Winnifred and punish her when we find her. If all of our investigations go in your favour, what happens next is something very special. We have been waiting many decades for the arrival of a Saunière. You came here for your birth right, Justina, and if it is truly yours then you shall have all that you are entitled to.’

  ‘It all checks out,’ she confirmed. ‘I have a copy of my family tree with me. I’ve spent years on it. You can trace my line all the way back to Emma Calvé in Paris in 1910, precisely the era when Saunière was her lover. I have birth certificates, census records, photos, news cuttings, all the evidence you need.’

  ‘And need it we shall,’ said the Templar.’

  ‘Will you guarantee the safety of Rocco?’ asked Justina. ‘Obviously he’s not an heir, but he took care of me and helped me to get away from Winnifred. He deserves good treatment.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied the Templar. ‘While we do the necessary research into your background you may both remain with me as my guests. I hope you appreciate that, for security reasons, your movements must remain restricted until we have assembled the documentary proof that we will need, but in the meantime you will be comfortable and safe.’

  ***

  The driving marathon ended abruptly while Charlie was behind the wheel, taking his turn once again after eight hours of unconsciousness. He stabbed at the brakes and pulled to the side of the road.

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ demanded Winnifred, woken uncomfortably by the g-force.

  ‘Look,’ said Charlie. He pointed at the flashing lights of police cars, barely visible behind the apex of the next bend. The lengthy sleep had rejuvenated him superbly. His reactions were lightning fast. ‘Road block, I guess,’ he announced. ‘Is anyone in this van happy to be stopped at a police checkpoint? Anyone have a reason to want to avoid the cops? Winnifred?’

  ‘Why are you singling her out?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘No reason.’

  Winnifred glared at Ruby, then at Charlie, and then spoke. ‘They’re looking for me. There was an incident at the chateau. A poisoning. Not my fault. And anyone who says it was will—’ she stopped herself. ‘Understood?’

  Her companions nodded, not really comprehending what she was saying.

  ‘So what do we do about the cops?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Turn around,’ said Winnifred.

  ‘Fuck the cochons,’ said Scabies. ‘We’re almost at Rennes. Find another road.’

  ‘I’ll check the map on my phone,’ said Ruby.

  ‘The back roads are so picturesque at this time of year,’ said Ratty.

  ‘It is not likely that they are looking for us specifically,’ said the Patient. ‘Well, not all of us, anyway. Wisdom dictates the need for another route, but to be seen to turn around will be interpreted as a sign of a guilty conscience. Charlie, if you perform a u-turn in this van, we will be spotted and they will send a car after us.’

  ‘We can’t just sit here,’ said Ruby.

  ‘I don’t propose that we do any such thing,’ the Patient replied. ‘Only one person must drive the van through the checkpoint. The rest of us will walk through the woods to a pre-arranged point on the other side of the road block where we will be collected and can continue our journey. The question is, who will be the driver? Who among us has the least reason to fear the gendarmerie?’

  Everyone maintained a shameful silence.

  ‘All right. I’ll do it,’ groaned Scabies, as assorted eyes began to turn towards him. ‘I can’t be the only one here with a passport, though.’

  ‘I have one,’ said Charlie, ‘but I may have taken some things from Saunière’s museum and I may have forgotten to pay for them or even to ask permission.’

  ‘So for once I’m the clean guy,’ Scabies muttered. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Pick you up at the first layby out of sight of the pigs.’

  Charlie packed assorted items into bags and passed them around as they left the van leaving Rat Scabies as the sole occupant. They stood on the roadside holding two weighty bags each.

  ‘What the fuck is this shit?’ asked Winnifred, handing her bags back to Charlie.

  ‘These are the things that we don’t want the cops to find in the van,’ he replied, handing the bags once more to Winnifred. ‘Come on guys. Teamwork. Let’s go.’

  ‘Fuck this,’ she grunted. ‘Fuck you, Charlie. And fuck you, everyone else.’ But she kept hold of the bags and started walking. The others followed, unsure how to react to the irate and vulgar woman who had made herself an uninvited addition to their group.

  Scabies was waiting a mile up the road. By now everyone was sweating and cursing that Charlie’s severe kleptomania exhibited a preference for the heaviest objects. Winnifred helped herself to one of the rear passenger seats and hid her face beneath one of Charlie’s towels.

  ‘Keeping a low profile?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Fuck you,’ came the predictable reply.

  ‘No,’ countered Ruby, fed up with Winnifred’s attitude problem. ‘Fuck you!’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Do you have a problem with your ears as well as your manners?’ Ruby taunted.

  ‘Girls. Not cool,’ said Charlie, spreading his arms between them in case a fight was about to break out. Then he leant into Ruby’s ear and whispered, ‘She’s got a knife. Don’t piss her off. She’s bad news.’

  ‘Then why the hell is she with us?’ asked Ruby out loud, not caring that Winnifred could hear. She found it hard to believe that the American woman would consider using a knife in anger amongst so many people.

  ‘I’m with you, bitch,’ said Winnifred, ‘because you need me. You happen to be looking at the greatest tunneller in the world. I’ve dug my way through every subsurface – rock, clay, sand, solid concrete. Nothing keeps me in. You guys have got clues about Saunière that you think will get you to his treasure, but you’ll need an expert like me to get you to it. And when we do, I take half. You can split the rest between you how you want. Those are my terms and anyone who wants to negotiate something better for themselves is welcome to discuss the matter with the hardened steel blade at my side. And don’t think I’m bluffing. You guys don’t wanna end up like the stiffs in the chateau.’

  ‘Oh Charlie, why is it that whenever you come into my life, chaos is never far behind?’ sighed Ruby.

  ‘Guess I’m just kinda special,’ he replied.

  Scabies pulled out into the traffic and soon turned left into the road that led up the twisting hill towards Rennes.

  ‘Well, you know what?’ asked Ruby. ‘I think we should let Winnifred have one hundred per cent of the treasure. You know why? Because we won’t be there to share it. Let’s drop her off in the village and lea
ve her to it. We don’t need to stay here. I refuse to work at knifepoint, and I don’t think any of you should either. That’s not the way archaeology is done. There. I’m making a stand. Let’s not be intimidated by this woman. Who’s with me?’

  She expected unanimity, but not against her. No one said anything or raised a hand except for Winnifred who waved her knife aggressively.

  ‘We stick to my plan,’ Winnifred declared. ‘We work together. We find the gold and I let you all share half. And if you don’t do anything stupid, no one gets hurt. It’s the best deal you’re gonna get.’

  The knife won the argument. The chateau and the church teased into view high above them momentarily before disappearing as the van lurched around another hairpin bend. With only yards to go before the sign welcoming visitors to the village, Scabies veered off the road onto a dirt track. He squeezed the van onto a narrow grassy verge, more suited to a bicycle than a Volkswagen, at the edge of which was a steep slope littered with stone bricks long since tumbled from vanished ramparts and buildings. One of the wheels sank as the soft ground gave way beneath it. The van lurched towards the drop, then settled.

  ‘Just like The Italian Job,’ quipped Scabies, climbing down from the driver’s seat on the safe side. ‘You want a discreet way into the village, everyone? You got it. Follow me.’

  A few feet further along the track was a sheer sandstone cliff, rising several storeys above them until it merged into the walls of the chateau with a join that was almost organic, made even more so by the creeping strands of ivy that seemed to hold it all together. At the base of the cliff was a white door made of steel.

  ‘That’s not a very subtle entrance if that’s a tunnel,’ said Ruby. ‘I thought all the tunnels had to be kept hidden?’

  ‘It’s an old well,’ replied Scabies. ‘Used to be the original water source for the villagers. Now there’s pumping equipment in there belonging to the water board. But let’s go in and see behind the well. It’s pretty cool.’

  He looked on his overloaded key ring until he found the key he was looking for. The lock turned easily and he pulled open the weighty door.

  ‘We’ve just travelled a thousand miles, and you open a steel door just like that?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Takes more than a bit of steel to keep me out,’ replied the drummer.

  ‘And what else is on your key ring?’ she continued. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got the key to every door in the village?’

  ‘It’s handy to know the right people,’ he replied. ‘It can really open doors for you, if you know what I mean. Come on.’

  He produced a flashlight and shone it around the space. They were inside a small cave, with a well in the floor, some rusty machinery behind it, and cobwebs dangling everywhere. The air was dank and displeasingly flavoursome.

  ‘Charlie, you might have to wait here. Keep guard, but don’t let the door close or you’ll be locked inside.’ His voice bounced off the rock with a sinister tone.

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘To get where we need to get, there are certain size restrictions,’ Scabies answered. ‘Like this.’ He pointed at a vertical fissure in the rock face. Charlie immediately understood. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘Not sure if I’m wearing the best togs for caving,’ said Ratty, eyeing the dark portal into the heart of the hill. ‘Perhaps I should keep Charles company?’

  ‘Don’t be a wuss, Ratty,’ said Ruby, shoving his slender body through the tight opening in the rock without difficulty.

  ‘I’ll go behind everyone else,’ said Winnifred. ‘I don’t trust any of you pieces of shit.’

  ‘Well this is going to be a great team-building exercise,’ sighed Ruby, following Ratty through the fissure and into a vast cavern through which an underground river lazily trickled. Stalactites hung threateningly above them and the temperature dropped so sharply that the hairs on their arms stood to attention amid a sea of goosebumps.

  ‘I said it was cool,’ whispered Scabies, his voice carrying easily through the chilly, wet subterranean atmosphere. ‘We can access some of the tunnels from this cave. And if you get a dinghy you can follow this underground river for miles.’

  ‘Am I to deduce that we are not therefore undertaking any exploration of virgin territory?’ asked the Patient.

  ‘Doesn’t he have a funny accent?’ chuckled Scabies.

  ‘He is a chap of a uniquely peculiar origin,’ explained Ratty. ‘But despite his heritage he’s a thoroughly reliable and solid sort.’

  ‘Doesn’t make a lot of sense, though,’ Scabies continued. ‘Just tends to witter on about shit.’

  ‘If by “shit” you refer to the noblest philosophy, the finest arts, the most profound literature and the most elegiac music on the planet, then you are correct, for that is precisely what he witters on about,’ explained Ratty in his friend’s defence.

  ‘I was merely enquiring as to the purpose of this exploration,’ said the Patient. ‘We have just arrived from a lengthy and difficult journey. We have nowhere to stay, no clothes or items of personal care, we possess very little money and we also have a need to avoid contact with officialdom of all kinds. My point is, therefore, that unless this cave is likely to lead us to the discovery of an item of great monetary value or huge historical significance then it would be a more valuable use of our time to address those other pressing needs which I have already outlined.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Ruby. ‘We’re not ready for exploring. We should sort out hotel rooms and do a bit of shopping and freshen up before jumping into the nearest hole.’

  ‘We’re not in here to find the treasure,’ said Scabies. ‘I’ve already looked here. Loads of people have. And the tunnels that lead off this river system don’t lead to anything worthwhile, either, except for one. There’s no treasure, but it’s a cool way to get into the centre of the village without being seen on the road.’

  He walked towards a man-made hole at the side of the cavern and climbed vertically using a set of rusting metal bars. At the top there was no door, just an opening in the floor of a room that resembled a stable. Bales of hay, loose straw, leather saddles, whips, horseshoes – everything, in fact, besides actual horses. Scabies climbed out and helped the Patient, Ratty and Ruby to join him, before leaving Winnifred to clamber out unaided. He opened the top half of the stable door to show everyone where they were: in front of them was the main entrance to the chateau; they were in the heart of Rennes. The cars belonging to the murdered family were parked just yards away. Police forensic teams were dusting and testing the vehicles for clues, and more police were milling around the castle door.

  ‘Seen enough?’ asked Scabies. ‘Let’s get back to donut boy.’ He pulled the stable door towards him, but this time the hinges resisted and creaked loudly. The two nearest gendarmes looked up from their investigations in time to see Scabies tuck his head back inside the stable. ‘Down the hole, everyone, quick!’ When the others had all re-entered the slimy tunnel he pulled a bale of hay over the opening and kicked some straw around it then walked out to meet the approaching policemen.

  ‘Monsieur,’ began one of the officers, wondering if the person he was addressing was someone he knew. Scabies sensed the partial recognition. He was used to that look. ‘What are you doing here? This is a crime scene.’

  ‘Is it?’ asked Scabies.

  ‘Please come with us so we can ask you some questions,’ said the other policeman.

  ‘Come with you? Seriously? Don’t you know who I was?’

  The first policeman nudged the other.

  ‘I know who he is,’ he informed his colleague.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He’s part of that group of historians and researchers and writers that come here all the time,’ he replied.

  ‘Ahem,’ coughed Scabies, ‘aren’t you forgetting that I’m also a rock star?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the second policeman, ‘I see it now. You are a famous rock star. You’re that drummer from the seventies. Ha
ng on, I know the name. You used to be really good.’

  ‘I like this man,’ said Scabies, grinning. ‘He knows me.’

  ‘Yes,’ continued the gendarme. ‘I remember. You are Phil Collins?’

  Scabies figured that was close enough. ‘Right. I’m conducting new research, that’s all, so can I go now?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the first policeman. ‘Just keep away from the chateau and be careful. The killer may still be on the loose.’

  Scabies had underestimated Winnifred. Her threats had been real; she was trouble.

  ‘Oh I’m sure she is,’ Scabies replied, and started to walk back to the main road.

  ‘Hey, Collins!’ shouted the second policeman, running after him.

  ‘Who? Oh, right. What is it?’

  ‘How do you know the killer is a woman?’

  ‘Do I? Funny how you just know this stuff sometimes.’

  ‘Sir, if you know anything about these murders you are obliged under French law to reveal that information immediately.’

  Scabies thought about this and suddenly realised this presented an opportunity to be rid of Winnifred. ‘Is there a reward for capturing the killer?’

  ‘Your reward will be the glowing feeling that you get from serving justice, from serving France.’

  Despite this unappealing motivation, Scabies knew he must use this chance to be rid of the rather large thorn in all of their sides. But he was open to a little negotiation first.

  ‘Her first name is Winnifred. I don’t know her second name, but I know she’s the guilty party and I know where she is right now. So if you’d like to reconsider the reward situation I could put my brain to work and see if I can get you a profitable result.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ asked the gendarme. ‘You know where we can find her?’

  Scabies nodded.

  ‘Come with me, quickly.’

  ‘You can’t hurry, love,’ Scabies replied, enjoying the moment.

  The policeman called his superior on the radio. After a brief chat he turned to Rat Scabies and told him, ‘Phil Collins, I arrest you on a charge of obstructing the police in their duties.’