“I'm a steak and potatoes man myself.”
Henri laughed, said, “You just haven't had a real gastronomic tour of the Med. I could teach you. I could take you to a pastry shop in Paris, Au Chocolat. You would never be the same, Ben.
“But I was talking about Gina, a woman with refined appetites. One day a new guy appeared at our table. The Dutchman – Jan Van der Heuvel.”
Henri's face tightened as he talked about Van der Heuvel, how he had joined them in their hotel room, called out stage directions from his chair in the corner as Henri made love to Gina.
“I didn't like this guy or this routine, but a couple of months before I'd been sleeping in my own shit, eating bugs. So what wouldn't I do to be with Gina, Jan Van der Heuvel or not?”
Henri's voice was drowned out by the roar of a helicopter flying over the valley. He warned me with his eyes not to move from my chair.
Even after the silence of the desert returned, it was several moments before he continued his story about Gina.
Chapter 84
I didn't love Gina,” Henri said to me, “but I was fascinated by her, obsessed with her. Okay. Maybe I did love her in some way,” Henri said, admitting to having a human vulnerability for the first time.
“One day in Rome, Gina picked up a young girl -”
“And the Dutchman? He was out of the picture?”
“Not entirely. He'd gone back to Amsterdam, but he and Gina had some strange connection. They were always on the phone. She'd be whispering and laughing when she spoke with him. You can imagine, right? The guy liked to watch. But in the flesh, she was with me.”
“You were with Gina in Rome.” I prompted him to continue with the main narrative.
“Yes, of course. Gina picked up a student who was screwing her way through college, as they say. A first-semester prostitute from Prague, at Universitr degli Studi di Roma. I don't remember her name, only that she was hot and too trusting.
“We were in bed, the three of us, and Gina told me to close my hands around the girl's neck. It's a sex game called 'breath play.' It enhances the orgasm, and yes, Ben, before you ask, it was exciting to revisit my singular experience with Molly. This girl passed out, and I loosened my grip so that she could breathe.
“Gina reached out, took my cock in her hand, and kissed me. And then she said, 'Finish her, Henri.'
“I started to mount the girl, but Gina said, 'No, Henri, you don't understand. Finish her.'
“She reached over to the bedside table, held up the keys to her Ferrari, swung the keys in front of my eyes. It was an offer, the car for the girl's life.
“I killed that girl. And I made love to Gina with the dead girl beside us. Gina was electrified and wild under my hands. When she came, it was like a death and a rebirth as a softer, sweeter woman.”
Henri's body language relaxed. He told me about driving the Ferrari, a leisurely three-day ride to Florence with many stops along the way, and about a life he believed was becoming his.
“Not long after that trip to Florence, Gina told me about the Alliance, including the fact that Jan was an important member.”
The travelogue of Western Europe had ended. Henri's posture straightened, and the tempo of his voice changed from languid to clipped.
“Gina told me that the Alliance was a secret organization composed of the very best people, by which she meant wealthy, filthy rich. She said that they could use me, 'make use of my talents' is the way she put it. And she said that I would be rewarded handsomely.
“So Gina didn't love me. She had a purpose for me. Of course, I was a little hurt by that. At first, I thought I might kill her. But there was no need for that, was there, Ben? In fact it would have been stupid.”
“Because they hired you to kill for them?”
“Of course,” Henri said.
“But how would that benefit the Alliance?”
“Benjamin,” Henri said patiently. “They didn't hire me to do hits. I film my work. I make the films for them. They pay to watch.”
Chapter 85
Henri had said he killed for money, and now his story was coming together. He had been killing and creating films of these sexual executions for a select audience at a premium price. The stagelike setting for Kim's death made sense now. It had been a cinematic backdrop to his debauchery. But I didn't understand why Henri had drowned Levon and Barbara. What could possibly explain that?
“You were talking about the Peepers. The assignment you took in Hawaii.”
“I remember. Well, understand, the Peepers give me a great deal of creative freedom,” Henri said. “I picked Kim out from her photos. I used a ploy to get information from her agency. I said I wanted to book her and asked when would she be returning from – where was she shooting?
“I was told the location, and I worked out the rest: which island, her time of arrival, and the hotel. While I was waiting for Kim to arrive, I killed little Rosa. She was a tidbit, an amuse-bouche -”
“Amuse what?”
“It means an appetizer, and in her case, the Alliance hadn't commissioned the work. I put the film up for auction. Yes, there's a market for such things. I made some extra money, and I made sure the film got back to the Dutchman. Jan especially likes young girls, and I wanted the Peepers to be hungry for my work.
“When Kim arrived in Maui for the shoot, I kept watch on her.”
“Were you going under the name of Nils Bjorn?” I asked.
Henri started. Then he frowned.
“How did you know that?”
I'd made a mistake. My mental leap had connected Gina Prazzi to the woman who'd phoned me in Hawaii telling me to check out a guest named Nils Bjorn. This connection had apparently struck home – and Henri didn't like it.
Why would Gina betray Henri, though? What didn't I know about the two of them?
It felt like an important hook into Henri's story, but I gave myself a warning. For my own safety, I had to be careful not to tick Henri off. Very careful.
“The police got a tip,” I said. “An arms dealer by that name checked out of the Wailea Princess around the time Kim went missing. He was never questioned.”
“I'll tell you something, Ben,” Henri said. “I was Nils Bjorn, but I've destroyed his identity. I'll never use it again. It's worthless to you now.”
Henri got up from his seat abruptly. He adjusted the awning to block the lower angle of the sun's rays. I used the time to steady my nerves.
I was swapping out the old audiotape for a new one when Henri said, “Someone is coming.”
My heart started tap-dancing in my chest again.
Chapter 86
I shielded my eyes with my hands and looked in the direction of the trail stretching through the desert to the west, saw a dark-colored sedan coming over a hill.
Henri said, “Right now! Take your things, your glass and your chair, and go inside.”
I did what I was told, hustled back into the trailer with Henri behind me. He unhooked the chain from the floor, put it under the sink. He handed me my jacket and told me to go into the bathroom.
“If our visitor gets too nosy,” Henri said, hiding the wineglasses, “I may have to dispose of him. That means you'll have witnessed a murder, Ben. Not good for you.”
I squeezed into the tiny washroom, looked at my face in the mirror before flicking off the light. I had a three-day beard, rumpled shirt. I looked disreputable. I looked like a bum.
The bathroom wall was thin, and I could hear everything through it. There was a knock on the trailer door, which Henri opened. I heard heavy footsteps.
“Please come in, Officer. I'm Brother Michael,” Henri said.
A woman's authoritative voice said, “I'm Lieutenant Brooks. Park Service. This campsite is closed, sir. Didn't you see the roadblock and the words 'Do Not Enter' in giant letters?”