[Fen Churche 02] - Night Train to Paris Fliss Chester (essential reading .TXT) š
- Author: Fliss Chester
Book online Ā«[Fen Churche 02] - Night Train to Paris Fliss Chester (essential reading .TXT) šĀ». Author Fliss Chester
āTitle, yes. And donāt forget the land, houses, probably a rather spiffing motorcarā¦ā Fen teased, but in saying it did wonder if James, who in her mind wasnāt that old at all, was selling himself a little short, and she said as much.
āDo you think she really only sees me as a meal ticket?ā James replied, before eating some more of his breakfast.
āNo.ā Fen acquiesced, and then thought about it before carrying on. āBut I think sheās a girl who saw great poverty in her youth and doesnāt want to experience it again. She may well hitch her cart to you, James, but it doesnāt mean she doesnāt like you, too.ā
āHmm.ā James cleared his plate and sat back. āTrue, true. Still, it was all a bit much last night and I ended up leaving rather early to get back to my hotel. But enough of the nattering, are you finished eating? Letās go and see Gervais, shall we, and at least clear that mess up before I make another one with Simone.ā
Thirty-Three
Fen and James walked down the Rue de Seine, in the opposite direction to the river and towards the Ćglise de Saint-Germain-des-PrĆ©s. Parisians in their Sunday best nodded to them as they walked along and seeing them so neatly turned out made Fen pause in front of one of the shop windows to quickly check that her hastily done victory rolls were still in place and her lipstick was just so. I probably wonāt be troubling the catwalks of Parisās fashion houses, she thought to herself, but Iāll do.
The side streets around the church were older in style and without the grand Haussman architecture it felt more like they were in a rural town, such as the one in Burgundy theyād recently come from. The roads were narrow and turned suddenly around blind corners, so much so that it was hard to imagine the great boulevards only a hundred or so yards away.
James guided them both through the labyrinth and arrived at an archway that was barred by double doors. Unlike the ones that led into Roseās apartment building, these were curved to match the stone arch above them and had a single small door cut into one of them. It was this door that James pounded with his fist to announce their arrival.
āThatās odd,ā James remarked. āI passed Gervais on the road last night as I was leaving your apartment and he said heād be in this morning. Thereās a car heās working on for some Italian chap; he said heād be under the bonnet all day and sprucing up the paintwork. āWorking all hours on a Sunday, for an Italian!ā heād moaned.ā
āAn Italian chap? Perhaps Henri was right about gangsters?ā
Fen didnāt mind the pause too much. She and James had been idly chatting as theyād walked to the garage and she hadnāt had the chance to think properly about what questions she might pose Gervais. Blurting out āare you a blackmailer?ā probably wasnāt going to cut the mustard, but it was what she so desperately wanted to know.
James pounded on the door again and called out Gervaisās name.
āThis is very odd,ā he finally conceded. It looked as though he was about to try ramming the door with his shoulder, until Fen reached over and turned the handle on the smaller cut-out door. It opened with ease and she raised an eyebrow at James. āFine, fine,ā he muttered, but his eyes suggested that he saw the funny side to the situation too.
Once inside, with the door softly clicked behind them, Fen realised that the arch would have originally led to the stables of a coaching inn or similar, but now the familiar smell of engine grease and fuel suggested that this was a garage for motorcars. It reminded her of the tractor shed on Mrs Bās farm, damp and earthy but spiced with the smell of petrol and oil.
James found a light switch and Fenās eyes confirmed what her nose had guessed. It was a fully functioning mechanicās set-up, with metal shelves of gasoline cans, spare parts and boxes of fuses and spanners, wrenches and wires. There was a pit in the floor, and above it a hydraulic ramp, upon which was a smart black car that looked new and in excellent condition, except for the spray of bullet holes that peppered the paintwork.
Fen pointed at them and James nodded, heād seen them too. Behind the car there were piles of tyres and beyond them more double doors. The smell of white spirit and oil also reminded Fen of Roseās apartment and she was just about to point out that fact, as well as comment on the rather interesting addition to the carās paintwork, when James gave a cry of shock.
āFen, stand back.ā He placed his hands on her shoulders and tried to turn her around to face the car again, but it was too late. There, in a small office area, which was crudely made from old window frames atop cinder blocks, was Gervais. Despite Jamesās efforts, Fen had already seen the pool of congealed blood on the floor by where his shattered head had fallen and above it the splatter of red across the wall, crudely vandalising the pictures of showgirls from the Moulin Rouge that were adorning it.
Fen held her hand up to her mouth and stood there silently. She knew she had to collect her thoughts pretty darned quick if she was going to be of any use to James, but the sight of the body, its blood and other unspeakable matter was truly shocking.
āWe should call the pā¦police,ā James stuttered slightly, but his voice strengthened as he asked, āWho would do this? This isā¦ well, this is an execution.ā
Fen shuddered and wanted very much to stop looking at the body of Gervais crumpled onto the floor, his knees bent beneath him as if he had been shot in a firing line. Just
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