Antoine informed all the relevant people in the book industry about the measures that had to be taken given the seriousness of the situation. As he hung up the phone, he glanced at his desk diary. Ten thousand copies sold in two weeks! With a look of near triumph on his face, Antoine crushed the fax his accountant had sent on September 21 with the words “...declare bankruptcy...” The media were giving the shocking event wide coverage. Skin Deep was selling like hotcakes.
Mathieu popped into the back office. “Gabrielle doesn’t suspect a thing, Antoine!”
“That’s the whole idea!” responded Antoine, slipping on his coat.
Mathieu stepped to one side to let him by. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve got an appointment with the accountant, and later this morning I’m seeing my lawyer, Maître Legrand. I won’t let that bitch take my daughter away from me!”
The accountant shook Antoine’s hand warmly and offered him a seat.
“Your increase in profits couldn’t have come at a better time, Monsieur Dufour.”
“I really thought it was game over.”
“So did I. But fortune has smiled on you.”
Antoine sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“Please excuse my lack of tact. I’ve been following the whole business in the press. This story is really taking on unbelievable proportions.”
Sensing that the conversation was moving toward an embarrassing subject, the accountant handed Antoine the latest inventory and offered him a quick overview of the new state of his finances. The situation was so encouraging that when he left the accountant’s office—despite the gravity of the circumstances—Antoine could no longer contain his joy and executed a little dance in the corridor. As he did so, he felt his cell phone vibrate.
“Maeva, my little sweetheart.”
“How are you, Daddy?”
“Almost better now that I hear your voice. Everything all right with Mommy?”
“Yes. But I’ve got a feeling we’re going to stay at Grandma and Grandpa’s forever!”
“That’s just a feeling, sweetheart. Everything will soon be back to normal.”
“Have you made up with Mommy?”
Antoine evaded the question and said he was sorry to have to cut the call short. He promised his daughter that he would see her again soon.
9:50 P.M.
The kidnapper was going to call in approximately ten minutes to give his instructions. Antoine emerged from Yasmine’s bathroom, where he’d been splashing cold water on his face in an attempt to wash away the stress he was feeling, and joined the others in the living room/library. Officer Suzuki was pacing to and fro between the window and the desk where the telephone sat in its place of honor. The two police officers positioned on either side of Madame Azoul were trying to reassure her. The poor woman was distraught. Hinda sat silent and nervous, holding her head between her hands and massaging her temples impatiently.
At 10:00 P.M. precisely, the phone rang and they all listened carefully to the voice on the other end. “Madame Azoul, you will place the money in the public garbage bin located behind the bookshop, next to the bus shelter. This will be your punishment for having raised a miscreant. If you call the police, you’ll be digging Yasmine Azoul’s grave.”
“Don’t hurt my daughter!” implored Madame Azoul, a tremor in her voice.
“It all depends on you. Do as you’re told and she will live.”
“I want to speak to Yasmine!” she rushed to add.
“You don’t get it, do you? My orders are all that count. Just get the dough together.”
“But—” There was no one there.
A glimmer of light appeared in Suzuki’s eyes. “We’ve located the calclass="underline" Senlis!”
“Senlis!” repeated Antoine with surprise. He swallowed hard to prevent himself from saying more.
A flash of hope lit up Madame Azoul’s face.
A squad of policemen escorted Yasmine’s mother to the Dufour-Planchon bookshop while Suzuki and Antoine, followed by three police cars, raced towards Senlis.
Antoine eyed the GPS nervously. “If that lunatic has touched a single hair on Yasmine’s head...”
“Take it easy. We’re only five hundred meters away.”
Suzuki slowed down, pulled over, and parked.
“A telephone booth! Merde! Merde! Merde!” he exclaimed seconds later, kicking the curb. He called the squad and ordered them to follow the kidnapper’s exact instructions. “Don’t intervene before the exchange.”
Antoine got out of the car. “I told you that Gabrielle is living at her parents’ at the moment... They live in Senlis.”
“Why didn’t you say so before? What’s the address?”
“Twelve bis, rue Meaux. I’ll show you the way.”
The shutters of the house were closed. Suzuki walked up the driveway, approaching under the cover of three hidden policemen, and hammered on the door. “Madame Dufour! Police!... Open up! Madame Dufour!” He pounded harder.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” Gabrielle opened the door. Suzuki showed her his badge.
“What’s going on?” Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she caught sight of Yasmine staggering across the garden on the arm of a police officer.
“She was in the shed at the back of the garden,” he shouted.
Gabrielle rubbed her eyes. “But... what’s she doing here? At my parents’ place?”
“That’s what you’re going to tell us back at the police station,” Suzuki replied coldly. There was something in Gabrielle’s attitude that struck him as aggressive. She looked heavy, but strong, too.
“At the police station?... You must be mistaken,” she stammered in a panicky voice.
Suzuki handcuffed her and contacted the other squad. “Yasmine is safe and sound. It was just a diversionary tactic or a test of some sort. Who knows? You can bring back the ransom.”
Antoine was upstairs folding Maeva’s belongings into a suitcase. His little girl would spend the rest of the night back in her own bed. At home.
Monday, October 8
The associates Dufour and Planchon, Yasmine, her mother, and Hinda, co-author of the book that was all the buzz, listened to the anchorwoman on the midday news praising the police for their professionalism as she described the kidnapping. “Drama and literature. When jealousy intrudes upon publishing...”
Yasmine was still very shaken. She had been sedated with sleeping pills and her mind was muddled and confused. She’d been unable to identify Gabrielle with any certainty as her aggressor.
A few months later...
Ensconced in an armchair, Mathieu was browsing through the book reviews in Livres Hebdo. He had just lit his pipe, and the pleasant smell of his tobacco wafted through the room. The victorious grin he wore on his face reminded Antoine of that eventful day that had marked the beginning of their glory. Antoine let his thoughts drift. The Paul Morand Literary Prize had been awarded to the authors of Skin Deep. “A work outstanding for the quality of its thinking, its spirit of independence, and, of course, its style.”
Antoine glanced out the window. Under the awning stood Gabrielle, wiping her feet on the doormat.
“Maeva! Your mommy’s here!”
“Okay, I’m ready.”
Antoine and Gabrielle exchanged a few civilities. She was still full of resentment toward Antoine. The divorce proceedings were underway and he had custody of Maeva. Despite certain unresolved inconsistencies, Gabrielle remained the principal suspect in the Azoul affair. Her lawyer had succeeded in getting her free on bail until the trial took place and she was only authorized to see Maeva every second Saturday, and no later than 5:00 P.M.