She told him she had just had an enormous surprise. She was mentioned in Julie Charpentier’s will.
This didn’t seem so surprising. Staring at the car in front, he asked the old woman to explain.
‘It’s the amount, Mister Quinn, the actual sum. I called the police fella to tell him, but he wasn’t in…so, well, I thought you might like tae know. So I tried you.’
Simon changed a gear, his car moved forward three inches.
‘Go on. How much?’
‘Well now.’ Edith laughed, self-consciously. ‘It’s a wee bit embarrassing.’
‘Edith?’
The Scots lady drew a breath, then answered.
‘Julie left me half a million pounds.’
The weather was worsening. Swathes of sour rainfall swept across the stalled and angry traffic.
14
Amy was phoning José, from the end of the breakfast terrace. David watched: her animated gestures, the way her blonde hair was harped by the freshening breeze. He could tell by the frown on her face that the conversation was odd, or difficult. She sat down. He leaned across.
‘What did José say? Did you ask him about my parents? Is this all about my parents?’
Amy laid the phone on the table. ‘Well…it was very difficult to work out. He was rambling, almost incoherent. Worse than when you showed him the map.’
‘And…?’
‘He said we had to get away. That Miguel was extremely dangerous. He also said not to trust the police. As I thought. And he said Miguel was probably coming after us.’
David growled his impatience.
‘Is that all? We know that.’
‘Yes. But he also seemed…odd.’ Amy set her cardiganned elbows on the tablecloth, which was strewn with golden flakes of croissant. ‘José told me he was leaving. Going into hiding.’
‘José? Why?’
Her shrug expressed perplexity. ‘No idea. But he was scared.’
‘Of Miguel?’
‘Perhaps. The police. Wish I knew.’
A raindrop hit the paper tablecloth, a grey spot next to the phone.
‘Well I’m not bloody running away,’ David said. ‘I need to know what happened to Mum and Dad. If this is all linked…God knows how.’ He stared directly into her fine blue eyes. Not unlike his mother’s. ‘Did he say nothing about my mum and dad, at all?’
She murmured.
‘No, he didn’t. I’m sorry.’
David sat back with a curt sigh of frustration. They had got as far as they could with José, yet José surely knew more. Sipping the last of his coffee, David winced at the taste of the dregs, and then he winced again, staring at Amy’s phone.
The mobile.
The revelation was a mild electric shock. He reached out, grabbed Amy’s cellphone, and looked at her.
‘This is it!’
‘What?’
‘He must be using this. I think Miguel’s using mobiles. To find us.’
‘What?’
‘You can trace mobiles, right? Triangulation. It’s easy.’
‘How…’
‘This is the French Basque Country, you told me yourself. ETA have sympathizers everywhere around here, even in the police force. Maybe in mobile phone companies, too. Telecoms?’
Her gaze was intense.
‘I made that phone call outside the witch’s cave.’
‘Exactly. He knows your number. And now you’ve called José he’ll be after us in Mauleon. Probably coming here right now.’
A fresh wind swept over the terrace. David stood up – and opened the phone, and took out the sim card. Then he leaned, and took aim, and span the little card into the river. Amy stared. He snapped the phone shut, and handed it back. ‘OK. Let’s go. Your bags are packed?’
‘They’re already in the car, with yours, but why –’
‘We can get another sim card! Come on!’
He led the way down the terrace steps to the waiting car. Then they drove away from Mauleon.
He pointed blindly at the map as he motored: already doing ninety kilometres an hour. ‘OK. Please…Amy, work out a route. Make it a zigzag, unpredictable. Let’s go and see these churches. Right now.’
Obediently she examined the old map, the pattern of blue stars. The forests unfurled as they accelerated. The mountains were coned with snow in the distance: a row of brooding Klansmen.
The town of Savin was easy to find. An hour of fast, anxious driving brought them to its cluster of sloped roofs. Savin was prettily situated on a crest, overlooking the grey farms and vineyards. They parked on a side street, looking up and down. For Miguel. For the red car. The street was empty.
A smell of incense enveloped David as they entered Savin church. A few Americans were taking pictures of a spectacularly ornate organ. David glanced at a rough old font, the pedestal of which comprised a trio of carved stone peasants: holding up the water. The faces of the peasants